


Free Thoughts on the Proceedings of Kingbury

by thegreatgayjatsby



Category: 18th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: 50 prompts challenge, All chapters set in canon era, Anal Sex, Angst, Birthday Sex, Clothed Sex, Cockwarming, Crossdressing, Dom/sub, Domesticity, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, First Kiss, Fluff, George is wrapped around Sam's pinky finger, George's first time bottoming, Growing Old Together, Historical Inaccuracy, Horseback Riding, Hurt/Comfort, Love Letters, M/M, Oral Sex, Parliament sucks, Period-Typical Ableism, Porphyria, Semi-Public Sex, Slice of Life, Smut, Tags to be added, long distance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-11
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-08-30 11:08:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 50
Words: 32,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8530660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegreatgayjatsby/pseuds/thegreatgayjatsby
Summary: Fifty sentence prompts responded to in regards of the relationship between King George III of the United Kingdom and Bishop Samuel Seabury of Connecticut.





	1. "Are you drunk?"

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter is in response to a different prompt!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1\. "Are you drunk?"

When Frederick's hand landed lightly just above the small of Samuel’s back, the bishop took a sharp breath and held his stance, smiling passively out to the faces of Parliament. His purpose for attending court that evening was an introduction. Frederick spoke on how Sam had brought him close to God, how they have been and will be spending a lot of time together to work on His Majesty’s religious studies.

Frederick's hand drifted lower as he answered a question posed by Lord North, his prime minister. Samuel reminded himself to breathe, eyes widening ever-so-slightly as the King casually took up a handful of his ass. By the time they took their leave, Samuel was frustrated and embarrassed. He knew what was at stake with Frederick dabbling with him, and it left him feeling disquieted that the King was so relaxed about it.

“Are you drunk?” He hissed, eyes dark as he stared, accusatory, at Frederick.

The King sent Samuel a lascivious smile, and he cocked his head a little in a mockery of innocence. “Why Samuel, such a suggestion could have you flogged. I’ll have you know, I attend to all of my business sober.”

Samuel huffed a little, growing hot around the collar at the sight of Frederick's grin. He pursed his lips, then cast a quick glance around them before swatting Frederick at his elbow. “Behave, Your Highness. Keep your hands to yourself in public.”

Frederick rolled his eyes and responded by grabbing Samuel by the front of his coat and hauling him into a fiery kiss. Maybe Samuel would be okay with Frederick's handsiness, after all.


	2. “You’re too young to hate the world.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2\. “You’re too young to hate the world.”

Samuel’s hands shook as he strode through the halls of his church, his face burning. He could feel the heat of his embarrassment in the tips of his ears, and it made him tremble with shame. He had been so careful with his relationship with Frederick. He’d been quiet and discreet and had tried to keep his late-night calls to His Majesty’s chambers on the down-low.

Of course his parish had caught on before too long. It had only taken hearing a few snide whispers about his attendance to the King’s audience for him to feel his stomach turn with anxiety. Samuel had delivered his sermon with a tight voice and a stony face, his words about God not reaching his own ears.

Heading off of his dais at the end of the service, he’d heard a snicker about his loyalty to Frederick. Samuel swallowed heavily and stalked away in a flurry of his clergy robes. His heels clicked sharply on the marble floor of Frederick's palace as he approached His Majesty’s chambers.

Only knocking for appearances’ sake, Samuel entered Frederick's chambers and slammed the door behind him, shaking fingers already working at his cravat. “I don’t understand!” He spat, heading to the bay windows to snarl out at the city. 

Frederick looked up from where he sat at his writing desk, quill in hand, ink stained fingers and all. He raised one slow brow, taking a second to assess Samuel’s emotional state of being. 

Samuel continued, barreling along his personal warpath like a schooner into a harbor. “They know, Freddy! They know, and everything has been so careful! They think that I’ve been corrupted away from God! They think their King is- is an oddity!”

Frederick rose from his desk fluently and came up to stand behind Samuel, taking his shoulders into his hands and looming behind him. He pressed a feather-light kiss to Samuel’s neck, a gentle air radiating off of him. His lips brushed Samuel’s neck, just above his parishioner’s robes, and he breathed, “Let them think.”

The bishop tensed a little, then let himself relax, all the anger and uncertainty flowing out of him. “I don’t understand it. We were careful.”

“Let them think, darling. You’re too young to hate the world. Enjoy us, and ignore them.” The King cupped Samuel’s jaw, planting a kiss over his pulse-point before drawing him into a secure embrace. “If they speak too loudly, I can have them beheaded.”

Samuel pinched Frederick weakly, looking up at him with a tiredly amused smile. “You wouldn’t.”

“I would, for you. I would steal the moon out of the skies for you, and Calypso from the sea.” Frederick's words were slow and certain, and Samuel melted in his arms, head coming to rest on the King's shoulder.


	3. “I don’t want your pity, I want your absence.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3\. “I don’t want your pity, I want your absence.”

“I’m so sorry, Majesty.” Samuel can hardly find his voice, clutching the parchment that had sent Frederick into a silent fury unlike any he had yet seen.

Frederick stood silently, hands shaking, his gaze fixed stonily somewhere outside the bay windows of his personal chambers. Samuel tried again, smoothing the crumpled document and laying it on Frederick's writing desk. It was a Declaration, from His Majesty’s colonies.

“Freddy, I know you ca-” 

“I don’t want your pity!” Frederick spat, voice cold and hard. 

Samuel flinched back, eyes snapping to his shoes. 

“I want your absence.” The King finished shortly, back ramrod straight and his muscles taut. In his anger, he rather reminded Samuel of a large cat prepared to pounce.

Instead of vocalizing his wish to be with Frederick in his time of need, Samuel bowed his head and took a step towards the door. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

Samuel could hear the contents of the surface of Frederick's desk crash to the ground, swept off by His Majesty, before the door was fully closed.


	4. “We’re designed to be disposable.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 4\. “We’re designed to be disposable.”

Frederick's fingers rhythmically clenched and unclenched around the reins of his steed. He stared blankly off into the distance, still rocked by the Declaration his colonies had sent across the sea. Samuel was seated on a smaller, darker horse beside George, having finally been permitted his company again. 

The bishop tried to be cheery, the weight of his cross necklace comforting between his clavicles. “It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it, Majesty?” He asked lightly, trying to draw Frederick out of his anger-muddled state.

Frederick grunted, nudging his white steed into a walk. Samuel rushed to follow.  
Some time passed before he tried again. “You know, I missed you.” 

Frederick huffed a little, shoulders back, eyes forward. Samuel watched him carefully. He hadn’t seen the King so impersonal before, not even when they first met. 

“Anyone would not be mad to not miss you in any prolonged absence.”

“We’re designed to be disposable, Seabury. You don’t need me. My colonies don’t need me.” Frederick's voice was flat, and with a sharp nudge to his horse's sides, he moved off at a trot.

Samuel felt like he’d been physically kicked, and swallowed around the lump in his throat before following suit.


	5. “There’s blood on my/your hands.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 5\. “There’s blood on my/your hands.”

Their first fight came as a result of Frederick's ignorance. There was only so much complaining Samuel could tolerate before he snapped. It was all about the situation over in the colonies now, it seemed. Samuel was sick of it.

“…don’t know why they could be so irate with me. We’ve done our best, you know, providing for them financially and supporting them. The least they could do is pay their bloody tea tax. Christ above, I ju-”

“There’s blood on your hands!” Samuel snapped from his perch on Frederick's bed, having long grown tired of watching the King pace.

Frederick paused, dumbfounded at the notion that Sam had raised his voice, and turned to cast the bishop a queer look. 

“There’s blood on your hands,” Samuel repeated slowly, “in regards to the colonies. People are dying, Frederick. You forget Connecticut is my birthplace. I stand behind you, but you must recall the carnage occurring overseas.”

The heavy bob of Frederick's Adam’s apple in his throat was all the apology Samuel needed.


	6. “Could you be any louder?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 6\. “Could you be any louder?”

Samuel was busy in the King’s library when he suddenly felt the floor drop out from under him. Or, rather, he was hauled up away from the floor. He squeaked, the tome he was browsing thudding to the floor, as he was turned and crowded up against the shelf he had stood before moments prior. 

“Could you be any louder?” Frederick's voice was low and rough in his ear, and Samuel suppressed a shudder, a little grin crossing his lips as he settled into Frederick's embrace. “This is the King’s library, you know.”

Samuel giggled, wrapping his arms tightly back around His Majesty’s neck and leaning up to steal a kiss. “Yes, and the King should know not to sneak up on a man when he is studying. The King’s library is a scholarly resource, not a place for such shennanigans.” 

Frederick buried his smirk in Samuel’s neck, amused by the way Samuel squirmed in his arms. “You should be studying other things instead of wasting your time here.”

“Oh? And what should I be studying, in Your Highness’ opinion?” Samuel asked a little breathlessly, fingers tightening in the fabric of Frederick's waistcoat. 

Frederick's lecherous grin was all the response Samuel needed to understand what the King meant to insinuate.


	7. “I’ve never killed anyone before.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 7\. “I’ve never killed anyone before.”

“I’ve never killed anyone before.” Frederick spoke slowly and thoughtfully, toying with the penknife he kept upon his writing desk. 

Samuel looked up sharply from where he was drafting out a plan for a new, hopefully popular sermon he was wanting to deliver to his congregation. “What?” He prompted, quill pausing on his parchment, one heavy drop of ink staining the page.

“I’ve never killed anyone. Not by my own hand. Of course,” The King turned, delicately placing his knife down before fixing his gaze upon Samuel, “I have had people killed under my rule.”

The bishop felt a little disquieted by the direction of the conversation, and he raised both eyebrows, sitting up fully and shuffling his pages together. “Are you trying to instigate something, Majesty?”

“Never with you, Sammy.” Frederick addressed lightly, moving to stand over Samuel’s place on the bed. “I was only thinking.”

Samuel’s discomfort rose exponentially as the King took a seat at his side, one finger hooking under his jaw and drawing his eyes up to meet George’s. “A dangerous pastime."” He responded hoarsely, heart pounding in his ears.

“I would kill for you, Samuel. I would put slaughter to innocents. I would have the entirety of my colonies massacred, were it to bring that light to your eyes.” Frederick bent to touch his lips to Samuel’s, and Samuel felt his stomach drop slightly, replaced by a fire in his belly familiar now to him.


	8. “Your smile is not as bright as it used to be.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 8\. “Your smile is not as bright as it used to be.”

Frederick had grown quiet, in his old age. Stricken multiple times with porphyria, through which Samuel had stayed loyally at his side, he was softer now, around the edges. Samuel did not mind in the slightest. The King was his world, and the two of them had spent many a year together.

Today, they took lunch in the gardens at Buckingham. Samuel was worried for His Majesty. Another bout of illness would surely be his last. Frederick was not frail, but he did carry a certain weariness about him that was so unlike him. It set Samuel on edge.

He poured Frederick's tea and spooned in two sugarcubes. Frederick's fingers trembled minutely as he took a sip, watching as Samuel plated sandwiches and a serving of fruit for the both of them. He had always been so observant. Samuel relished the feeling of the King's eyes on him.

“The larks are quiet today.” The King noted, leaning back in his wrought-iron garden chair and casting a knowing eye about the shrubbery. “They always used to sing so loudly.”

Samuel chuckled and took a bite of his sandwich, eyes roaming Frederick's passive face. No matter the length of time they shared, he still never quite felt that he had preserved Frederick’s image properly to memory. 

“They sing as loudly now, Majesty. Your hearing is not as well as it used to be.” Samuel jibed playfully, folding his hands in his lap and smiling gently.

Frederick sniffed a little, actually turning his nose up and pursing his lips. “And your smile is not as bright as it used to be.” 

Samuel hesitated before realizing that Frederick wasn’t entirely serious. “Majesty, nothing could outshine your joy.”

The King met Samuel’s gaze evenly and murmured, “And you are the harbinger of it.”

Samuel smiled, then, and Frederick felt the warmth from it across the table.


	9. “Don’t call me that!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 9\. “Don’t call me that!”

Samuel’s eyes fixed, wide, with pupils blown, upon the glittering cross of Frederick's heavy crown as His Majesty gracefully sank to his knees before him. His swallow caught tight in his throat when Frederick's dainty fingers found the laces of his breeches and began to undo them.

The bishop was half-hard when the King fished him from his breeches, and he felt his breath become shortened. Frederick's lips formed an o as he took the head of Samuel’s cock into his mouth, and Samuel’s head tipped back to thud against a wall in Frederick's chambers. 

“Frederick,” He hissed, one hand coming down to grip a golden spire of His Majesty’s crown, worried that the bobbing of Frederick's head would send the awfully expensive thing clattering to the floor. 

The King’s lips curled mischievously around his mouthful, and he hummed lowly. 

Samuel bit back a whimper. It took a moment to choke the words out, but he managed a “Frederick, please, stop teasing and get on with it!”

Frederick rocked back slightly and pulled away with a wet pop, all smirk and bright eyes. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

“Don’t call me that!” Samuel hissed, snatching the crown off of Frederick's head and attempting to place it as delicately as possible, upon the floor. 


	10. “Please don’t make me socialize.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10\. “Please don’t make me socialize.”

Parliament was the bane of Frederick's existence, and by default, that of Samuel’s as well. More frequently than not, Frederick emerged from Parliament meetings seething with a just-bridled rage, his eyes dark, the lines of worry sharp on his face. Usually after he’d calmed a little, Samuel drew him a hot bath with bubbles and washed his hair, murmuring sweet nothings all the while. They would retire early for the evening, and the whole affair had blown over by morning.

Sometimes, though, the anger stirred in His Majesty was so great that it exhausted him. The next day, Frederick would be practically catatonic. This was one of those mornings, and unfortunately, it coincided with a day Samuel had planned to take lunch with Frederick out in the gardens behind Buckingham.

Samuel had let Frederick sleep in a good few hours more than typical, and it was nearing the lunch hour when he perched upon the bed at the King’s side and stroked his hair from his face. The bishop planted a tender kiss on Frederick's brow, smiling sweetly down at him. Frederick opened his eyes briefly, met Samuel’s gaze, blinked once, then promptly groaned and rolled over quite pointedly. 

The bishop swallowed a laugh and settled into bed behind the King, draping an arm loosely about is waist and trailing a line of kisses up his neck. Frederick mumbled a little, tugging the blankets tighter up around himself and huffing out a greeting. Samuel kissed his cheek, hovering a little, and grinned. 

“It’s almost lunch time, Freddy, wake up.” His tone was playful, but Frederick whined and frowned. 

“Please don’t make me socialize.” He grumbled, eyes slits against the sun streaming in through the windows as he focused on Samuel.

Samuel kissed the King’s nose and shifted above him, wrestling the blankets down and tugging at Frederick. His Majesty put up some weak resistance, then allowed himself to be pulled from the bed. He reluctantly slid his feet into his slippers and watched as Samuel scampered into his closet to retrieve his day clothes. 

Frederick stood still and mostly limp as Samuel divested him of his nightgown, then maneuvered him into his regal attire. Samuel, not to be easily dissuaded, only kissed the King good morning in response to his lack of enthusiasm.

“The only person you have to socialize with his me,” He promised, squeezing Frederick’s hand tightly. 

The King smiled back a little, rubbing his thumb over Samuel’s knuckles and pressing their foreheads together. “Fine. But you, and you alone.”


	11. “Same time tomorrow?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 11\. “Same time tomorrow?”

Samuel’s hair had long been disheveled, primarily by His Majesty burying his hands in it. The bishop lay on his stomach, hands folded, his cheek resting on them, his eyes fixed lazily upon Frederick's form. The King sprawled at his writing desk, quill scratching quietly on parchment as he signed some Parliamentary document or another. 

The younger and smaller of the two kept his gaze on Frederick, who, having recovered from their shared passion, was still nude but working. The King seemed to feel Samuel’s gaze, and he glanced up briefly to smile at his lover before returning to attending to his paperwork. 

Samuel let out a small sigh, but made no motion to move from where he lay in Frederick's bed. Instead, he murmured, “Come back to bed, Freddy. I’m lonely, and cold.”

His Majesty snorted rather ungracefully and finished his signature with a flourish. He wiped the tip of his quill off, then capped his inkpot and looked at Samuel with a withering smirk. “You Americans are so needy.” He drawled before finally standing and approaching Samuel.

The bishop rolled over, dragging the blankets with him, and reached out to touch Frederick's face as he settled into bed again. The two curled together, and Samuel sighed, soft and content against the King’s neck. Frederick kissed Sam’s collarbone and weighed him down to the mattress, smoothing his hands over Samuel’s hipbones.

The King knew it was getting late, and in order to avoid suspicion, he would have to send Samuel from his chambers soon. He avoided making his touches too rough or too soft, instead lingering carefully and only ghosting the barest of kisses over Sam’s skin. Samuel whined a little, low in his throat, and held tighter around Frederick's shoulders. 

His Majesty smiled sweetly into Samuel’s hair, planting a kiss there before asking softly, “Same time tomorrow?”

“Why of course, Your Highness,” Samuel whispered, closing his eyes and squeezing his legs a little around Frederick's waist. “I wouldn’t miss our daily confessional for the world.”


	12. “I’ve been buying the wrong underwear.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 12\. “I’ve been buying the wrong underwear.”

“Samuel, please come out, I swear there is nothing for me to mock. And I wouldn’t, if there were.” Frederick's voice was beginning to take on a whining lilt, and Samuel managed a little twinge of amusement at His Majesty under the thorough embarrassment he was currently experiencing. 

This had been his idea originally, but he was finding it very difficult to go through with it, now that he would be faced with the King’s possible disapproval. The scrawny bishop looked at himself critically in the mirror above Frederick's vanity. He was locked up in the King’s en suite privy, and he couldn’t find it within himself to leave.

The object of his anxiety, of course, was the set of clothes, or rather, lack of, that he had gotten himself into. A pair of lacy underthings and a set of garters and stockings, topped off with loosely-laced corset. He couldn’t tighten the corset up himself, but it was on him, and that was what mattered. The silks were in that deep crimson that Frederick so favored, and Samuel had purchased them that way on purpose. He had selected them carefully from a catalog in a downtown London lingerie store, telling the shopkeep he was making a purchase for his lady. He supposed he was telling the truth, in of that Frederick was his lady now, in a sense. 

Samuel snorted a little, turning aside from his reflection and straightening his garters. He ignored the little bolt of heat that arose in his stomach at the notion. 

“Sammy,” Frederick's voice was higher than usual, a petulant tone in it, and Sam grinned, entirely too amused at His Majesty’s impatience.  
Instead of deigning the comment worthy of a response, he nudged the door open and slowly stepped out from the privy, keeping his eyes focused on his stocking-clad toes. He took another little inch forward, into the patch of fading evening sunlight filtering in through Frederick's window. The King himself was silent for a good long moment.

Samuel fought the rising urge to flee back into the privy and slam the door. 

He heard Frederick's footsteps, each single and calculated against the floor. The King’s heels clicked, and Sam felt his stomach flip with nerves. Frederick's presence was always so intimidating, and although Samuel knew him well, he still couldn’t help but be a little frightened of the King. 

Frederick made a slow circle about Sam, then stopped about a foot in front of him and drew himself up to his full height, surveying the bishop like he was a piece of meat in a butcher’s window. Samuel swallowed tightly, mouth dry. His eyes kept solidly on his toes. 

The King inhaled audibly and raised his hand to ghost his fingers under Samuel’s chin. He raised Samuel’s face so he could meet his bishop’s eyes, his own raw with hunger. Samuel swallowed again, speaking in a meek voice when he finally summoned the courage to do so.

“Do you like it?”

Frederick's face remained open, pupils blown, high cheeks red with heat. His Majesty opened his mouth, than closed it, seeming unable to develop a proper sentence. Instead, he gave a curt nod and drew Sam to him in a rough kiss. 

Samuel found himself suddenly crowded up against the wall, Frederick's hands substantial on his waist. He could feel the King’s fingers just under the lip of his corset, and Samuel shuddered, kissing back with wanton abandon. His Majesty trembled a little as Sam wrapped his arms about his neck and slotted their bodies together. Frederick's mouth came away from the bishop’s in order to instead raise a line of harsh red marks along Samuel’s collarbone.

Sam positively whimpered, his hips shifting a little against Frederick's thigh. The King growled lowly, the only sound he had made thus far, and Samuel gasped as His Majesty broke the skin of his shoulder in a possessive bite. 

“Frederick,” He started, surprised at how weak his voice sounded, even to him.

“You’re heavenly.” Frederick responded intensely, drawing back minutely to catch Sam’s eye. “I want to take you apart.”

Samuel’s lips formed an o, and he nodded his consent, hands gathering the fabric of Frederick's waistcoat. Frederick smiled broadly and scooped Samuel into his arms, turning them and moving across the room to deposit them on his bed. 

The bishop flushed darkly when Frederick looked down upon him like he was something to consume. He had seen Frederick like this before, deep in the night while indulging in primailities together, but to see him this way in the light was thrilling. He reached up to the King and gripped him by his cravat, tugging him further up along the bed and atop himself. 

Frederick settled between Samuel’s legs, his hands grazing the insides of the bishop’s thighs. He kept his nails careful, only scratching slightly and watching for Sam’s reaction. The smaller of them kept his hands busy undoing Frederick's cravat, the heavy lace making the King’s throat inaccessible. 

His Majesty placed a line of fervent kisses down Sam’s neck to where his corset began, and his hands traveled up Samuel’s sides to gather the lacings of the corset up. When he pulled to tighten the thing, Samuel whined, and Frederick's eyes briefly flickered up to ensure this was an acceptable course of action. He found the bishop’s lips parted slightly in a stolen breath, and the King grinned before promptly tugging again. 

It was slow work, tightening the corset from this angle, and when Frederick tied it off, it was just tight enough to impede Sam’s breathing a little, but nowhere near as tight as it could go. His Majesty gripped Sam’s waist, watching as the bishop removed his cravat and tossed it aside before moving on to the buttons of his jacket and vest. 

“I want to see you like this again.” Frederick rasped out in between kisses to Sam’s neck, which, at this point, was thoroughly bruised with lovemarks. “I want to see you with the corset on proper. I’ll have a maid help you into it. We’ll get you a gown.” 

He rambled his sentences out into Samuel’s skin, Sam meanwhile fighting with the King’s clothes. When Frederick pulled away to shirk out of his jacket, vest, and shirt, Sam murmured, “I’d like that. Could you take me to court? Show me off?”

“You’d be my Queen.” Frederick affirmed, undoing the laces to his breeches and kicking them off. His movements were rushed, his hands returning to Sam’s thighs as if any moment without contact burned His Majesty’s skin. “I’ll have you before the court, if you wish. Show them that you’re mine.”

He punctuated the last syllable by unclipping the garters from the stockings. “I’d like to see you in these, always. I’ve heard tell they’re more comfortable than pants.” His tone was a little thoughtful, even as he scooted down the bed to dip his head between Samuel’s thighs.

Sam yelped and his hands flew to bury in Frederick's hair, fingers tightening in the strands Frederick kept cropped for his wig. “Oh!” His cry came out watery, and he blinked furiously. This was not the time to cry. This was a happy moment, and he would banish his sensitivities to when they were finished, even though they came from an overwhelming sense of happiness.

Frederick promptly distracted him by mouthing over the damp spot in Samuel’s undergarments. Samuel’s head hit the pillow with some force as his eyes rolled back, the pressure of Frederick's hands groping his inner thighs and his mouth on his cock proving to be almost too much for him. 

The King laved his tongue under the head of Frederick's cock, thoroughly wetting the fabric there before drawing back and casually tearing the thin silk. Samuel made to comment on the price of those damned things, but Frederick's devilish tongue was already working him back into a stupor. 

Sam’s fingers tightened in the King's hair on a particularly good pass of his tongue, and Frederick hummed in response. The bishop squirmed, legs hitching up and pausing, then wrapping around Frederick's shoulders. His Majesty drew off of Samuel’s cock with a wet sound, eyes dark as he looked up. Samuel felt breathless, in part because of the corset’s ribbing, partly because of the sheer desire in Frederick's gaze.

Frederick reached across Sam’s waist to fumble in the nightstand’s drawer for a moment before procuring a vial of oil. Samuel swallowed, hips canting upwards merely at the sight. George grinned and set the vial down on the bed beside them, returning to his position low between Sam’s legs. The bishop watching with interest through hooded eyes, which slipped closed as George licked an unhesitant stripe over his entrance.

Samuel wallowed in the sensations as Frederick worked him open with first his tongue, than a finger. He was so far gone by the time Frederick added another digit that the burn was as pleasurable as the rest of his lover's actions. Then the King’s fingers crooked and Samuel was crying out, blathering on for Frederick to please hurry up in the Lord’s name he was going to kill him if he didn’t fuck him right now—

And Frederick's voice was soothing as he withdrew his fingers, teasing that Samuel should “Be careful with such harsh words, love. An act of violence against the King is treason” as he slicked himself up. Samuel hitched his legs higher up around Frederick's waist as His Majesty settled into place, his cockhead nudging at Samuel’s entrance. 

The bishop ground his hips forward, and Frederick responded in term by pressing in in one slow movement until he bottomed out. Samuel didn’t realize he was crying until Frederick was thumbing the tears away and kissing the crown of his forehead, hands shaking a little as the King braced himself above Sam. 

Samuel was grateful for Frederick's patience, his intrusion, as always, near proving to be too much for Sam to handle. The bishop took his sweet time in adjusting, making a few little movements of his hips to accept the King’s cock more amicably. When he finally whispered against Frederick's cheek that he could move, Frederick nearly shook with the effort it took to control himself.

The King angled his hips slightly and withdrew, then pressed back. Fireworks went off behind Sam’s eyes. It was practically unrealistic how well His Majesty knew the bishop’s body, able to find his sweet spot so quickly. He must have said this aloud, because Frederick was laughing as he repeated the motion. Samuel’s nails dug into Frederick's shoulders, then raked down his back when the King shifted again and slammed home.

Samuel desperately hooked one ankle over the other, raising his hips to meet Frederick's as they made love. Their eyes met briefly before another shock of pleasure sent Sam’s head back onto the pillows. Frederick started to speak then, talking in a certain voice about how beautiful and perfect and handsome Sam was. 

The bishop came in a hot stripe across Frederick's belly when the King told him he was going to buy him whatever underclothes he wanted and fuck him in all of them. Frederick followed soon after, sinking his teeth into Samuel’s shoulder and muffling his shout as he buried himself in the other. 

The two lay together, entwined and panting, as the King’s cock softened and slipped from Samuel’s lax body. Frederick touched his forehead to Sam’s unmarred shoulder, breathing heavily and still hovering a little above the other. It took them a good amount of time to shift until he could withdraw from between Samuel’s thighs and lay down. 

Sam pillowed his head on his lover's shoulder, eyes closed, his chest heaving under the restrictions of his corset. Frederick's fingers found the ties and began to dutifully loosen the cords binding Samuel. The King rolled him onto his stomach, pausing to wipe Samuel’s spend from his stomach with a discarded article of clothing before finishing his work in undoing the corset.

That item was tossed off the bed with a satisfying snick of silk on skin, and Frederick's arms gathered Samuel back up into an embrace. Sam hummed sweetly and rested there, Frederick's breath warm on the back of his shoulder. The King placed a kiss there, nuzzling, and Sam spoke.

“I’ve been buying the wrong underthings.” He mumbled, a little of his shyness returning as he rolled to face Frederick.

The King arched a brow and kissed Samuel lightly. “I’ll reimburse you for that purchase. Then we’ll buy you more. Bring a catalog home, I’ll pick something out for you.”

Sam laughed a little and hugged himself closer to Frederick. There were, of course, perks to being in a relationship with royalty. “You spoil me, Your Highness.”  
“’Tis worth it.” Frederickanswered nonchalantly, curling one hand in Sam’s hair and settling in for sleep.

Samuel followed suit, curling close and smiling into the column of Frederick's throat. “I’m glad you like it.”

“I like everything about you.”


	13. “How can anyone not be afraid of love?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 13\. “How can anyone not be afraid of love?”

“I can’t lose you.”

Samuel’s voice was high with panic, his hands scrabbling at Frederick's lapels.

Frederick could only swallow down his rebuttal as he continued to groom himself into perfection. He ran a fine-toothed comb through his hair before beginning to make quick work of pinning his wig into place. Samuel shook him, and Frederick gently pried his hands away, nudging him aside to continue readying himself.

Samuel made a deeply distressed sound in his throat, clinging to the cuff of Frederick's jacket sleeve. “Please.”

His Majesty took a low breath, resolve firm as he clenched his jaw.

Samuel gripped at the King’s sleeve tighter, tugging at him frantically. “Frederick!”

“Enough, Samuel. I have made my mind.” Frederick said quietly, delicately removing his sleeve from Samuel’s grip and smoothing his jacket lapels down.

Samuel made another weak sound. His eyes were filling with tears, and Frederick could hardly bear to look, instead turning aside. Samuel whimpered. The King moved past him to the door.

“I will inform Lord North of our transgressions. I shall attend to my colonies overseas, Samuel. You must be capable of holding my stance here while I am away.” He had made up his mind several long nights ago.

Samuel was distressed, to say the least. “Please, don’t. You may be King but they’ll take me from you. You must know that. Frederick, surely you must know that. I love you.” He spoke hurriedly, shaking like a leaf.

“I love you, Samuel. But I must do this.” Frederick's answer was soft but sure, and he paused to accept the bishop into his arms.

“Are you afraid? You’re fleeing. This is too much so you’re going to oust me as a sodomist and go off to America to hail yourself a war hero.” Samuel grasped the other’s arms, tears bright on his cheeks as he barreled on. “You’d do that. You’d throw this away. Are you afraid of love, Your Majesty?”

“How can anyone not be afraid of love, Samuel?” The King drew himself up to his full height and frowned. “Nothing will be thrown away. I am the King, and they shall abide by my wishes. And I wish for you to rule in my absence.”

Samuel bowed his head, a strangled sound coming from him. “You are a fool, if you believe they will ignore us. I will not reign as your Queen.”

Frederick's nostrils flared minutely. “Watch your tone, Samuel.”

“I will not reign!” Samuel’s voice rose so high it cracked.

“Be quiet!” Frederick snapped, finally losing his temper. “You forget your place, bishop. I am your King, and I shall do as I please. You are my lover, not my equal.”

Samuel reared away as if he had been smacked.

“I see.” He spoke hardly above a whisper, eyes cast downwards.

Frederick deflated slightly, calming himself. “I will have you rule. We will be repaired. I take my leave.” He said slowly, then promptly left the room.

Samuel was left to settle to the ground in the King’s wake.


	14. “You’re supposed to talk me out of this.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 14\. “You’re supposed to talk me out of this.”

Samuel was not ready to depart from London. The time had come, of course, always too soon, but he was not prepared. His hands trembled minutely as they packed his things into a travelling chest. All he could think of is that the chest was too ornate for a bishop. Frederick had insisted. “A going away present,” He’d said.

Samuel did not want to go back to America.

He missed his parish, and his work in the Colonies, but he did not want to leave His Majesty’s side. The King attended to his court and his duties, but all of his spare time was dedicated to Samuel and their amorous transgressions. Samuel had found his peace with his faith and his sensibilities towards Frederick many a month ago. If not for his duty to God and his parish, he would never leave Frederick's bed.

They had planned the date of departure around Frederick's schedule specifically so they had to say their goodbyes the night before. It had been Samuel’s idea. He didn’t think he would have left, were Frederick here now, as he packed. Frederick wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but he had made up for it the night previous, preaching his love in searing kisses across Samuel’s skin. The bishop stamped down the memory. Now was not the time.

His carriage would arrive shortly. He finished packing, and, at the last moment, slipped into George’s closet to steal away one or two of his fine silk shirts. The King did not need them. He folded them with the utmost care and tucked them close around his worn copy of the Bible, than closed and locked the trunk.

When he called for servants to take it away, they did, and he followed them numbly downstairs and outside to the courtyard, where, sure enough, a carriage had been arranged to take him from St. James’ to the harbor. Samuel swallowed and cast one, long look back over the palace. He was only set to be in America for nine months. He could do that. He would do it, for both he and Frederick's sake. Besides, absence made the heart grow fonder. Samuel thought if his heart grew any fonder of Frederick, it would sap all his energy, and he would wither and die.

The carriage bore him to the harbor quicker than he would have wished. He soaked up the sights and sounds of London as they went, and he stepped delicately from the carriage onto the wooden planks of the docks. The ship before him was grand, and he fought the urge to roll his eyes. Of course, only the best for him, as Frederick would say.

Samuel blinked furiously as his eyes stung. Now was _not the time_. This was fine. He would be fine.

The bishop gathered his cloak tighter about himself, than took a few reluctant steps towards the ship that would bear him across the Atlantic. A grand thundering of hooves behind him made him seek pause, and he turned to look disdainfully over his shoulder at whatever fool was galloping about the docks at such a busy hour.

Much to his surprise, he was met with a glorious white charger, his legs flecked his mud, and Frederick, astride him, out of breath, flanked by two palace guards, leaping from the saddle and collecting Samuel up into his arms. Samuel let out a shocked breath and tangled his fingers in Frederick's fine riding cloak.

“Highness,” He greeted, and was hushed, Frederick holding him tightly.

“Stay.” His voice, weak with labor, was firm, and Samuel felt his heart twist.

“You know I must-”

“Stay with me. We can assign you a parish here.” Frederick sounded more insistent this time, absolutely aware that he was causing a scene.

“I should go, Freddy.” Samuel’s hesitance was answer enough, and His Majesty beamed.

“You’re supposed to talk me out of this.” The King murmured, taking a minute step back and clapping Sam on the shoulder. “But I don’t want you to. Come, I’ll have Lord North arrange for your duties in the Church here by this eve.”

Samuel grinned back shyly, stomach fluttering happily. America could wait.


	15. “That was a perfect example of how not to do things.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 15\. “That was a perfect example of how not to do things.”

The happily bubbling stream lent a peaceful ambience to the atmosphere of Frederick's garden party. The monarch had put on the little get-together at the urging of Lord North, his Prime Minister. The man wanted Frederick to gain the public’s favor after the news of another lost battle returned to England.

Frederick sat comfortably in a wrought-iron patio chair, a plate of desert before him. Torches lit the grove, and he felt at ease with Samuel by his side. The bishop, of course, was distinctly uncomfortable at being around so many people at once, let alone the upper crust of London society. He a little closer to Frederick than decorum necessitated, but it could be brushed off, considered to be his American inexperience.

The women of the court did so delight in his Connecticut accent. He flushed a lot, when they spoke to him. He was embarrassed easily, and oftentimes tripped over his own words. Frederick murmured for him to pay them no mind, but he could hear their tittering laughter. He could hold the attention of his parish with great ease, but these people seemed to be devils in of themselves.

The King had spent most of the evening taking social calls and interacting with the attendees of his party. Now that he had done just that, however, he had time to relax and place his attention on Samuel. Under the tablecloth, his hand massaged slow circles about the inseam of Samuel’s trousers.

Delicate fingers made quick work of Samuel’s resolve, and the bishop found his flush returning. Frederick's hand had drifted casually in and up as desert proceeded, and Samuel nearly choked on his parfait when His Majesty began to palm his hardening self.

The King sent him a look of concern, a gleam in his eyes that only the bishop could see. “Are you quite alright, Reverend?” He inquired, awarding Samuel a particularly pleasurable twist of his wrist.

Samuel smiled to cover his grimace. “Yes, Your Highness, quite. The food is heavenly, and I took it too quickly.”

Frederick nodded sympathetically and turned to continue surveying the party. People were starting to leave, and Sam wished they would go faster. The King’s deft fingers began to undo the clasp to his trousers, even as he wished a good night to some young Lord.

Sam slipped his hand under the table, intercepting Frederick's and squeezing lightly. His cock weeped into his underclothes already, he had no need to spend himself under the thin tablecloth in the midst of a social event. Frederick interlaced their fingers momentarily, wishing another leaving party a good night, than guided Samuel’s hand away and slipped his own into the bishop’s slacks.

The American closed his eyes tightly, fighting the urge to rut his hips into the touch. Much to his chagrin, however, Frederick completely bypassed his cock to stroke two fingertips at his entrance. Samuel sank his teeth into the inside of his cheek in order to keep himself quiet, legs falling apart. He opened his eyes to fix Frederick with a pleading look.

The King ignored him completely, choosing instead to, with his free hand, feed himself a strawberry from his desert plate. Samuel laved his tongue over the wound he had created in his mouth, tasting copper.

His Majesty spent another few tortuous minutes playing over Samuel’s entrance, than graciously wrapped his hand around the other’s cock. The last few guests trickled out of the doors, and Frederick dismissed the guards immediately upon the garden gate swinging shut.

Samuel whined at him when he stood, removing his hand completely. “ _Freddy_ ,” He pleaded, gripping himself under the table in Frederick's absence.

The King wandered through the small sea of tables until he came across a bottle. With a salacious grin on his face, he returned to Samuel and brandished it at him. Heat flamed out across Samuel’s cheeks. “Olive oil, Frederick? This is not Rome.”

Frederick shrugged one shoulder, appearing indifferent even as he poured a generous amount onto his fingers and reclaimed his seat at Samuel’s side. His hand crept back between Samuel’s thighs, and any complaints the bishop may have had died in his throat. Samuel paused his hand on his cock and relaxed the best he could, fixing the King with a heady stare as a finger slipped into him. He could feel the chill of Frederick's ring against his entrance, and he hissed, eyes dark.

The King responded by slipping a second finger into him. Samuel’s hand resumed its motions. Frederick's free hand grazed Sam’s cheek, bringing him close for a light kiss. It was chaste, compared to His Majesty’s repeatedly curling fingers.

Samuel’s hips bucked as Frederick found a particularly sensitive spot within him, and Samuel opened further the wound in his mouth. Frederick licked the edge of Samuel’s lips and cleaned the blood from where it pooled there. The bishop whimpered, his hand coming up to collect George’s cravat in a fist.

Frederick kissed him again, then crooked his fingers and _pulled_. Samuel muffled a shriek by lurching forward and burying his face in the place where Frederick's neck met his shoulder. The King near giggled, pulling again, almost too harshly, and Samuel came with a shout.

When Frederick looked up over Samuel’s bowed head, a guard stood at the gate, an uncertain look written plainly across his face. The King smiled at him and nodded his dismissal, then winked. The man near tripped over his own feet to leave, presumably embarrassed by the sight.

Samuel took his time recovering, shuddering as Frederick withdrew his fingers and placed a kiss on his cheek. He glanced down at himself, frowning a little at the mess of his trousers. “That was a perfect example of how not to do things.” He muttered, eyes still soft as he looked at Frederick.

His Majesty was quite clearly immensely pleased with himself.

Samuel sighed lowly. “My mouth hurts. Can we take leave to your chambers?”

“I rather think that’s a lovely idea, Samuel.” Frederick responded cheerily, popping another strawberry into his mouth with his clean hand as he wiped the other off on the tablecloth.

Samuel righted himself the best he could, then stood, wincing at the stickiness between his thighs. “Let’s, then.”


	16. “If you want, we could go together?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 16\. “If you want, we could go together?”

            Samuel awoke in the middle of the night due to hunger. He blinked out into the darkness of the room, mind hazy with sleep, a little confused. He shifted, and felt the warmth of George’s body next to him. He must have fallen asleep while His Majesty was still working, and Frederick hadn’t had the heart to wake him and send him from his chambers.

The bishop sighed a little and sat up. He had skipped dinner to attend to Frederick at His Majesty’s wishes. They were _supposed_ to be being subtle about their involvement, masquerading as Frederick's journey to Christ, through Samuel, but that was quickly falling short. They were too soft on each other.

Samuel swung his legs out of bed and stood, hissing quietly at the cool tile beneath his feet. He toed into Frederick's slippers, and used the book of matches on the King's writing desk to light a candle. The bishop headed towards the door, intent on getting something to eat, than stopped short upon promptly realizing he had no idea where the kitchens were.

Buckingham was a huge, damnable place, and he did not fancy getting lost. Sam turned and set the candle on Frederick's desk, then shook the King impatiently awake.

“What, Sammy?” The King's voice was muffled by the heavy comforter, and Samuel tugged at him a little.

“I skipped dinner for you, and I’m hungry. I don’t know where the kitchens are.” He explained lamely, admiring Frederick's sleepy face in the dim candlelight.

“I can call for a servant,” Frederick offered, blinking and moving to pull Sam back into bed with him.

Samuel hesitated, gnawing on his lower lip. “Too many people know about us already, Freddy.”

Frederick rolled his eyes and ran a hand through his short, tousled hair, then stood. “If you want, we could go together? To the kitchens, that is. I’m sure there’ll be some leftover mutton in the icebox, or something.”

Samuel nodded, warming quickly to the idea, and took Frederick's hand in his own, entwining their fingers. “I’d like that.”

The King collected up the candle and let Samuel lead him out in the hallway, silently mourning the chill on his feet and loss of his slippers. They made their way leisurely to the kitchens, and upon arrival, Frederick lit more candles and began to dig in the icebox.

Samuel lit a small fire in the hearth and procured himself a hunk of bread. Frederick presented to him, on a fine china dish, a piece of cheese and meat. The bishop watched as Frederick sat at the servant’s table, drumming his fingers on the rough wood, then set the plate before the fire to warm the meat.

He ate the cheese and bread, washing it down with plain water, and then the meat as well, when it warmed. He felt the urge to apologize, but stamped it down, knowing by now it would only be met with a gentle, “You’ve nothing to apologize for, Sammy”.

Instead, he settled on saying, “Thank you for accompanying me. I’d’ve been very lost.”

Frederick smiled at him fondly, looking tired, but amused. “Any time in your company is time I enjoy, Samuel.”

Sam flushed and attended to his plate and mug, setting them in the sink. He returned to Frederick's side and received a kiss on the cheek. The King took his hand again and they returned to his chambers.

Samuel climbed into bed beside His Majesty, kicking off his slippers and pillowing his head on Frederick's chest. The King's arms came up to wind about Samuel’s waist, and the King bestowed a kiss to Samuel’s forehead.

“I’ll draw you up a map of the castle in the morning, you darling American.”

Sam snorted at Frederick's sleepy jibe and snuggled closer. “Whatever you say, Majesty.”


	17. “I have contemplated becoming a hermit.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 17\. “I have contemplated becoming a hermit.”

Parliament was back at it again. Samuel was surprised Frederick hadn’t yet been driven to madness by the fools. Of course there was infighting, and the usual verbal sparring matches. Frederick did so despise holding court for them.

The bishop watched Frederick pace, reiterating the meeting’s finest moments to his Prime Minister. An amused smile alighted on Samuel’s face at hearing Frederick's accent slip so much deeper in his irritation. He had to admit, His Majesty was attractive when angered.

Lord North looked entirely bored with listening to the monarch rant, and he ran a hand over his face before meeting Samuel’s gaze tiredly. Sam shrugged one shoulder, toying with the hem of his robes. He’d just come from delivering a sermon to the King’s parish. He had been appointed junior bishop of His Majesty’s church.

The Prime Minister mouthed, “How much longer do you think he’ll talk?” to Samuel, and Samuel shrugged again, trying to hide his grin.

“I see you two exchanging wits. You think you’re clever, don’t you?” Frederick said over his shoulder, the hem of his mantel sweeping across the floor as he trod in circles. “The least you could do is be subtle.”

“Majesty, every Parliamentary meeting you come back with the same complaints about the American situation.” Lord North intoned carefully, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Samuel nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Freddy.”

“I have contemplated becoming a hermit, you know, with all the help I get from you lot.” Frederick huffed, facing them with a prim look to his face. “They won’t listen to reason. All they say is, more taxes, when I say, repair relations.”

The King rolled his eyes and resumed his pacing. Lord North met Sam’s gaze again and shook his head minutely, exasperated.

“Your Highness, taxes are necessary to cover the expenses of the wars the kingdom is fighting.”

“I know that, you imbecile. I am the one who collects!” Frederick appeared all of a child in that moment, crossing his arms across his chest and pouting. “Samuel, your Lord has placed a curse on London. I’d accept a plague, or a famine, but He has sent us Parliament. Just as well as he has sent the Americans their damned Congress!” Frederick directed the last question out the window, in the general direction of the sky, and Samuel winced.

Lord North wisely chose to keep his mouth shut, instead looking at the King with thin lips. Frederick huffed and waved at him decisively. “Go then, you’re no help. Dismissed for the day.”

The Prime Minister stood and gathered his papers, then quickly left the room. Sam tried not to laugh at the goings-on. If only Franklin and Adams and Hancock and Hamilton and Washington and the whole lot could see the inner workings of King George III and his Parliament. They would laugh.

Sam stood and crossed the room, collecting Frederick's elbows in his hands and placing a kiss on his lips. “You’ll figure it out, Freddy, I know it.”

Frederick's anger began to visibly seep from him, and he leaned in closer to Sam, resting his chin on the top of the bishop’s head. Samuel wrapped his arms around Frederick's waist and sighed a little, relieved at the affect he had on the King.

“Please don’t become a hermit, though,” He said into Frederick's chest. “I’ve become rather fond of all your riches.”

The King's laugh was loud and sincere.


	18. “I’m alive… I can tell because of the pain.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 18\. “I’m alive… I can tell because of the pain.”

Samuel had never been on a foxhunt before, and he had to admit, he was absolutely nervous. He had also never been to France before, but here he was, sitting astride a smaller bay horse, beside Frederick upon his great white charger. To the King’s other side was Louis XVI, the Frenchman astride his own horse. Samuel hadn’t ever really ridden hard, either, always preferring carriages to horseback.

Today was turning out to be a great source of anxiety for him. He hadn’t wanted to disappoint Frederick, and when the King insisted, he had bowed his head and come along.

The purpose of their meeting was both for Frederick to show off his equestrian skills, and for the two European monarchs to speak and hopefully come to a resolution regarding France’s involvement in the colonies’ rebellion. Thus far, all Samuel had encountered was people speaking a language he didn’t understand, and another handsome man kissing Frederick on the cheeks. Customary or not, it unnerved him.

Sam’s hands clenched tight round the reins he held, and he cast his eyes downward. He could hear French all about him, Frederick fluent in the tongue, and it disquieted him. This was near proving to be too much. Luckily, or perhaps not, the call to ready sounded, and Frederick and Louis headed to the front of the pack. Samuel’s horse followed of its own volition.

His Majesty hardly spared Samuel a glance, preoccupied by the happenings of the hunt. Samuel tried not to feel the anxiety that was bubbling within him. The snarling rabble of hunting dogs moved in a whirl at the legs of their horses, and then, with a blast of a trumpet, they were off.

Samuel focused on his hands, entwining his fingers and the leather reins he held in two forceful grips of his horses mane. They surged out across the French countryside, and Samuel placed blind faith in his steed to navigate the ground beneath them. Their surroundings were a blur. Sam gripped tighter with his thighs and squeezed his eyes shut. _Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be thy name…_

Frederick's horse settled into an easy canter aside Louis’, the two monarchs leaping hedgerows together and chasing the hounds. Samuel could hear the King's voice, and Louis’ answer, just barely over the pounding of his own blood in his ears. He spared a quick look back and saw that the three of them were much further ahead than the rest of the hunting party.

The treeline was rapidly approaching, and Samuel’s breath caught as Frederick's gelding tore through a thicket of ivy, Louis right on his heels. At least they had made an opening for Sam’s horse to thunder through. The bishop felt tears sting at the corners of his eyes, not from fear, but from the wind snapping across his face. He decided right then and there that foxhunting was not for him.

The distance between Sam and the two kings increased gradually, his horse slowing minutely, and Sam began to calm a little. This was okay, he was fine. Then his horse took a particularly sharp turn, deciding to forgo the trail in favor of bursting through the wild forest in order to catch up. Sam bit back a shriek and squeezed his legs tight around his steed.

The horse, interpreting this as Samuel asking him to move faster, sped up. Samuel recognized his own voice, higher pitched than usual, yelping, “ _Frederick_!”

Frederick threw a glance over his shoulder, face flushed with exertion, grinning, and met Samuel’s gaze just as Samuel’s horse popped a little buck and sent Samuel directly into a tree branch. Samuel was unconscious before he hit the ground.

When he awoke, he found both Frederick and an unfamiliar man leaning over him. The man was quite clearly a doctor, as he was inspecting Samuel. Samuel opened his mouth to speak, than groaned as a wave of pain washed over him.

“Samuel,” Frederick's voice was low and harried, his eyes wide. “Samuel, how do you feel?

Samuel took a moment to gather up his ability to speak. “I’m alive… I can tell because of the pain.”

The King smiled weakly, and Samuel’s eyes fell to where their hands were intertwined. A bolt of nerves ran through him, and he flicked his eyes up to Frederick's face. Frederick's fine dress wig was slightly mussed, and when Samuel looked past him, he saw they had an audience.

King Louis of France stood slightly behind Frederick, concern written across his face. He said something, and Frederick didn’t look back at him when he answered in fluent French. Samuel closed his eyes.

The doctor deemed him uninjured except for a few bruises, and Frederick helped him to his feet. Samuel pried his hand out of the King’s grip, flashing him a brief, apologetic smile, and dusted himself off. He could already feel a headache building behind his temples.

Frederick resisted the urge to kiss Samuel and ensure he was alright, instead turning to apologize to Louis. The Frenchman waved his apology off, and the two of them began to move towards their steeds. Samuel gulped a little, and began to pray.

What a disaster this had ended up to be.


	19. “Maybe you’re not thinking hard enough.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 19\. “Maybe you’re not thinking hard enough.”

“Why are you Londoners so different?” Samuel whined, leaning against Frederick's writing desk. “Every sermon I deliver is met with absolute disdain. Is it because I’m an American?”

“I’m not sure, darling.” Frederick dipped his quill-tip in his pot of ink and signed another document with a flourish.

Samuel drummed his fingers in a ceaseless tempo against the polished mahogany. “I don’t know what they want to hear. I think, maybe, in America, we’re simpler, and I’m not smart enough to be preaching to your city.”

“Don’t patronize yourself. Maybe you’re not thinking hard enough? Are their reactions based on your words, or you yourself?” The King’s voice was soothing, and Samuel’s fingers stopped their beat for a moment.

“I think me?”

“What can you do to sway them?”

Samuel smiled faintly and leaned in, pressing a chaste, thankful kiss to Frederick's cheek. “Oh, thank you. I think I’ve got a solution.”

Frederick smiled gently in return, quill scratching against parchment. “There’s my clever little colonial. Go sway them. I know you can do it.”

Samuel buttoned the top few buttons of his robes and swept from the room, on the move to Frederick's library to do some research and already considering his next sermon.


	20. “It’s 8:30, I have a hangover and you’re annoying me.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 20\. “It’s 8:30, I have a hangover and you’re annoying me.”

The night previous had involved imbibing a lot of the fine wine of Buckingham’s stores. Reports had reached England of some fairly important victory in the colonies, so of course, Frederick had suggested toasting to the fine King’s Men state-side. Frederick had always been particularly fond of celebrations, and, as someone with access to the wine cellar, was handling the morning after just fine.

Samuel, however, was not. The bishop swore there were cherubs prancing about the inside of his skull, stamping on his brain and causing him a good deal of pain. He was nauseous, and currently had all of Frederick's fine comforters pulled up over his head. Prone in his cocoon of darkness, he could still smell the coffee Frederick had tried to get him to drink. Everything was too much.

With a sad little whimper, he curled tighter in on himself, to no avail. His Majesty patted him lightly through the comforters. “The coffee will do you a world of relief, darling.” Frederick intoned gently, peeling the blankets out of Samuel’s grip.

Sam looked up with squinted, red-rimmed eyes, and pouted. Frederick smiled sympathetically down at him, running a hand through his hair. “Oh, _Sammy_ …”

“Shut up. It’s 8:30, I have a hangover.” Samuel whined, rolling away from Frederick's patronizing expression. “You’re annoying me.”

His Majesty laughed lightly and bowed to press a little patch of kisses about Sam’s face. “Drink the coffee.”

“Fuck you.”

“I thought you had a hangover?”


	21. “No one has a heart of stone.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 21\. “No one has a heart of stone.”

Upon reading the latest report from Cornwallis, Frederick promptly declared that Francis Marion, from the colony South Carolina, was a monster. Charles had attested to previous rumors that Frederick had caught wind of regarding the Swamp Fox. Apparently, he and his men were in fact cutting out British officers’ tongues and nailing them to trees.

Samuel couldn’t help but to agree with Frederick on that particular analysis. He stopped agreeing, however, when Frederick went into great detail as he furiously penned a reply to General Howe with what exactly he wanted done to Marion. The bishop winced a little and resisted the urge to pointedly cover his ears. His Majesty could be so gruesome.

“No one has a heart of stone, Your Highness.” Samuel said carefully, laying on the title as a form of praise at the end.

“I think we should cut _his_ tongue out.” Frederick answered huffily.

Samuel pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache beginning to build behind his temples. “Freddy, dear…”

“Don’t dear me, darling, I want him dead.”

The bishop rolled his eyes and decided the argument was pointless right then and there, promptly shutting his mouth. Frederick went back to listing off various forms of popular torture methods.


	22. “Can I open my eyes yet?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 22\. “Can I open my eyes yet?”

It was Samuel’s birthday. Really, you only turn thirty once, and of course, Frederick was making a huge deal out of it. Samuel had spent the past month dodging questions about presents and favorite restaurants and _did he like chocolate fondue_? It was all very tiring, honestly, and when he’d finally produced a small list of answers for Frederick, His Majesty had taken it and run with every idea possible.

Sam knew Frederick was materialistic, but not to this extent. Frederick wanted to express his love through things, and Sam understood that, but wasn’t necessarily a hundred percent comfortable with it. His birthday meant more to Frederick than it did to him, he realized with a fond roll of his eyes. The King had to have everything perfect.

He’d gone to sleep the night before with Frederick draped around him, murmuring about how tomorrow was going to be just absolutely wonderful, and they’d have so much fun together. The sentiment meant more to Sam than whatever actual plan Frederick had put into place.

When he awoke, it was to find Frederick absent from his side and instead, between his legs. The bishop blinked awake, took one look in the general direction of downwards, and promptly blushed a dark red. The second sensation that hit him was Frederick's tongue laving across the head of his apparently very interested dick. Sam groaned and gripped the blankets in one hand and covered his face with the other.

His hand was cool against his flushed cheeks, and he could hear Frederick positively giggle before taking him into his mouth. Samuel whimpered and canted his hips a little. Frederick took this in stride and took Sam all the way to the back of his throat. When he swallowed, Sam’s hand fell away from his face, and he shifted onto his elbows to watch.

It was always a treat to experience His Majesty on his knees, and a lazy smile made itself at home on Samuel’s face. He ran a hand through Frederick's hair, jaw slackening as the King looked up from beneath his eyelashes and swallowed again.

“ _Jesus_ ,” He hissed, more than willing to take the Lord’s name in vain.

Frederick drew back happily and, for once, didn’t make a comment regarding sacrilegious practices. Instead, he just smiled broadly and moved back down on Sam’s cock. Samuel’s eyes rolled back a little, and he tightened his grip in Frederick's hair. The King hummed encouragingly, and Samuel gently pushed him down.

His Majesty’s hands roamed about Samuel’s sensitive inner thighs as he bobbed under Samuel’s direction. His tongue was absolutely in cahoots with the Devil, and Samuel thought he must have said this aloud, as Frederick's muffled laugh around his cock sent shudders up his spine.

It didn’t take long at all for him to spend himself down the King’s throat, and when Frederick sat up happily, they locked eyes. Frederick swallowed very pointedly, and Samuel blushed again, slumping back into the pillows with post-coital weakness. The King laughed again and tugged Samuel’s nightclothes back into place before falling to his side.

Samuel drew George into a slow kiss, tasting himself, and murmured, “Good morning,” against Frederick's mouth.

His Majesty shifted back to kiss Sam’s nose. “Happy birthday, darling.”

Samuel grinned. “Was that my present?” He asked teasingly, knowing fully well that Frederick wouldn’t leave the celebration at that.

True to his character, Frederick snorted derisively, looking offended. “Good heaven’s no. That was just your wake up call.”

Samuel’s grin remained. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad after all. He watched with curiosity as Frederick went to get dressed, bringing Sam his own clothes. The outfit he’d been chosen was tailored and fancy, surely very expensive. He hadn’t seen it before. It wasn’t even a present, he knew, just something Frederick thought he ought to have.

He dressed much slower than Frederick did, enjoying as the King stood, foot tapping impatiently by the door. The bishop approached him, feeling dolled-up in the evergreen frock coat and dark breeches. He paused to kiss Frederick deeply, then passed out of their room into the hallway.

Frederick hurried to catch up to him, finding great amusement that Sam seemed to know their exact itinerary. They absconded to the gardens together, where the servants had prepared a fine breakfast. Sam thought he probably enjoyed the food most out of all of Frederick's luxuries. The King knew this.

They ate together, then took leave to the King’s Library. Frederick had had several rare religious texts imported for Samuel. Samuel was floored at the thoughtfulness of the gift. The next item for the day was a walk along the Thames. Frederick had servants waiting with a picnic. The food, again, was delicious. They went on a little horseback ride behind Buckingham, then, attended evening church service. Samuel had never seen Frederick actually attend any service, and they held hands under the lip of the pew. Frederick listened with rapt attention. Samuel felt overly-emotional.

The bishop was relieved to retire from the service to the King's chambers. They took dinner, extravagant as always, in Frederick's room, and Sam felt dizzy with the wine and emotions. Frederick scooted out of his chair to straddle Sam’s lap in his, kissing him senseless. This went on for a long while, before Frederick slipped from Sam’s lap and ordered him to close his eyes.

Sam smiled to himself, listening as Frederick moved about the room, collecting something out of the drawers of his dresser. “Can I open my eyes yet?” He asked, when he felt Frederick return to his claimed spot in his lap.

“Yes,” Came the answer, Frederick's voice tight with excitement.

He brandished a lovely little wrapped parcel, and Samuel took it from him graciously. “What’s this?”

“Open it! I’m not telling you.” That little offended tone had wiggled its way back into Frederick's voice, and Samuel kissed him on the cheek to placate him as he carefully unpackaged the gift.

Frederick watched with thinly-veiled impatience. “You don’t have to save the wrappings, Sam,” He whined, and Samuel opened it all the more careful, just to be a bother.

Under the wrappings was a small, cherry wood box, engraved with Samuel’s initials and some carvings. It didn’t look expensive at all, but was fine work. He glanced up briefly at Frederick, who, with the gift between them, looked very nervous.

“This is beautiful.” Sam murmured, tracing the engravings with his fingertips.

“Open it.” Frederick implored, voice dropping to a whisper.

Samuel complied. Within the box was a velvet pouch. He plucked that out and opened it. Within, was a beautiful, rubied rosary. Samuel felt a lump of emotion rise in his throat.

“Georgie,” He said weakly, looking up and meeting Frederick's eager gaze.

“It was my mothers,” Frederick explained quickly, smiling. “She would have wanted you to have it.”

Samuel didn’t realized he was crying until Frederick enveloped him in a hug, surrounding him in warmth and mumbling that he loved Samuel more than he loved anything on the entire earth. Samuel let a sob break its way from his chest, and he clung to Frederick, the beautiful box cradled between them, the rosary in his hand.

Frederick spent the next while humming to the other, kissing his cheeks and hands and whispering that Samuel was his world. Samuel managed to stop crying long enough to disentangle them, and Frederick gently placed the box on his writing desk. Samuel slipped the rosary into its velvet pouch, then returned it to the box.

“I had that made in America, you know. Connecticut. I thought you’d like having it done from your birthplace.” Frederick said proudly, as he bundled Samuel into bed.

They settled into each others’ arms, and Samuel sniffled a little, tucking his face into Frederick's shoulder. “It’s perfect. _You’re_ perfect. I love you.”

“Happy birthday, darling. I love you, too.”

Samuel decided that he wanted to celebrate for his thirty-first birthday, next year, too.


	23. “So much for not getting involved.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 23\. “So much for not getting involved.”

So probably getting upset enough to come present his thoughts to the community was unwise. Samuel should have curbed his anger, but he was frightened. He was seeing more and more infighting in his parish. Some folks had stopped showing up to church on Sundays simply because they were traitors, and Samuel, their bishop, was a Loyalist. It hurt Sam’s feelings, if he was honest.

Now here he was, standing, humiliated, having been shouted off of his podium by some angry Patriot. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, and he clutched the document, his free thoughts, close to his chest. He should have known better.

Samuel abandoned the crate he’d upturned to stand upon, and fled back to his quaint home. Turning to God, he asked for guidance. He cared deeply about the state of his home, but, this was too much for him. He wasn’t ashamed to admit he cried.

He couldn’t stand back and let His Majesty’s good name endure slander here. Samuel still ached for that passionate week he’d shared with the King, when he was in England, getting his credentials to be ordained a bishop. That’s what this came down to, after all. He loved the King.

Samuel picked up his quill and dipped it into ink, then, began to write.

“ _If one may be so brave as to request His Majesty’s attention;_

_His Highness may recall a Yale graduate having gained his ordainment from the Church of England in 1753. His Majesty and this bishop, myself, Samuel Seabury, spent some time in each others’ presence before I took leave back to Connecticut, in America. I write to request audience with Your Highness, and I eagerly await response. I believe a discussion regarding the lack of God in the hearts of these Patriots is in order. The incontestable fact is that this rebellion must be stamped out._

_Yours always, faithfully, and with respect for the Crown,_

_Bishop Samuel Seabury”_

It took Samuel some courage to send the missive off with the next returning British trade ship, but when the deed was accomplished, he felt much more confident in his decision. So much for not getting involved.


	24. “I will if you will.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 24\. “I will if you will.”

Frederick felt a little bad when he looked up from the military reports he was reviewing to find Samuel curled up in the armchair by the hearth, fast asleep. A book lay open, propped against his chest, and George’s entire being softened at the sight. He lay down his quill with a sigh and stood, cracking his back before moving to scoop Samuel into his arms.

The distance between the armchair and Frederick's bed wasn’t much, but it was enough for Samuel to stir awake and drape his arms around His Majesty’s neck. Frederick, still clad in his red silks and fine shirt, tucked Samuel in and kissed his forehead. “Go back to sleep, darling.”

“I will if you will.” Came the cheek reply, and Frederick smiled fondly. He stooped a little to kiss Samuel again, easy and gentle.

When he pulled away, it was with great reluctance. “I have to review these reports so I can work on a plan tomorrow. I’ll come to bed soon.”

Samuel straight up _whined_ at him. Frederick felt his resolve steadily crumbling. “Sammy, I have to work, doll.” He implored, more at himself than Sam.

Sam pouted. Frederick began to unbutton his vest, the last dregs of his determination slipping through his fingers. He tossed the garment aside, then stepped out of his breeches and slid into bed. He felt, rather than saw, when Samuel smiled triumphantly against his neck.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” Frederick murmured into Sam’s hair, holding him close. “Now I’ll have to get up early and finish that review.” They both knew Frederick would do no such thing.


	25. “My nightmares are usually about losing you.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 25\. “My nightmares are usually about losing you.”

Frederick awoke with a panic in his hazy mind and a very ungraceful sound in his throat. He couldn’t remember what had frightened him but he knew something very horrible had just occurred in his nightmare. He fumbled in the dark, reaching for Samuel, only to find his bed empty.

Oh.

Right.

Samuel had left to return to America a fortnight ago.

Frederick was alone.

His Majesty swallowed heavily, suddenly feeling very small in his unnecessarily large, and now empty bed. He felt about the blankets until he recovered a shirt, one that he had insisted Sam leave for him. With minutely trembling hands, he held it to his face, breathed in Samuel’s scent, and promptly dissolved into tears.

When the King finally consoled himself enough to move, he slipped from bed and padded over to his writing desk. He could still see Samuel leaning against it as he worked, complaining that Frederick spent too many hours poring over military strategy and financial reports. Now that Sam was absent, Frederick agree with him.

Sam’s voice reminded him, “ _Your dearest Samuel reminds you; there’s someone in your corner all the way across the sea_ ,” and Frederick did as Sam had suggested he do if something like this occurred. He sat and started to write a letter.

“ _My darling Samuel,_

_You have not been gone more than a month and I miss you gravely. Your heart holds my heart, and I find every waking moment consumed by thoughts of you. I miss your voice, and your reason, and your holiness, and your presence. You are unfaltering and have taken my spirits with you to America. Please bring them back with expedition. You can accompany them, if you so see fit. I have begun to encounter night terrors. I don’t remember them, but I suspect, most of my nightmares are about losing you. Come back as soon as you can. That’s a command from your King. Stay away from any fighting. That’s another order from your King. Make an effort to return to me. I love you._

_Yours always, with adoration and respect,_

_Frederick”_

Frederick looked over his letter, letting the ink dry, saddened at how pitiful the words sounded to him, and then folded the parchment up. He dribbled candle wax over it and sealed it with his ring, the royal seal marking its authenticity.

It would be sent in the morning. No matter he’d written a letter two nights previous and sent it, as well. At this rate, Samuel would be receiving a letter from Frederick every few days. When His Majesty climbed back into bed, he gathered Samuel’s shirt up and buried his face in it. Then, he slept.


	26. "I didn’t intend to kiss you.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 26\. “I didn’t intend to kiss you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord North was George's Prime Minister, but in 1753, when Sammy obtained his bishop ordainment, George II was still king, and Henry Pelham was the Prime Minister. But if I'm making history gay, I might as well make it inaccurate in timeline-related ways too.

Samuel was jittery with nerves. He’d been called to provide audience before the King, and from what he understood, he would be going into the throne room, alone. Thinking about it made his palms sweat. He was getting twitchy, a testament to his anxiety. Picking at his cuticles was a nervous habit he’d never bothered to break, and so when his finger bled, he sucked at it for a moment. He was a wreck.

When the guard standing before him admitted him to the throne room, Samuel kept his eyes on the ceiling. The cathedral vaulted room made him dizzy, so he immediately looked at his feet. He barely remembered to pay reverence, and bowed so hastily he almost tripped over his robes. He had been summoned straight off his sermon in the church to standing before the King.

Samuel was too frightened to look at the man who surely sat upon the throne. He made his way to the middle of the room, bowed again, then moved to the foot of His Majesty’s dais. He bowed a third and final time, than took a deep breath and looked up at the King.

The poor bishop’s heart nearly stopped. It was the handsome man who had cornered him in the King’s Library, looking irate, and kissed him senseless. Samuel heard himself make a tiny noise of confusion. His Majesty’s somber expression bloomed into a radiant smile.

Samuel felt faint. There was nowhere to sit. He felt himself shaking like a leaf.

“I didn’t intend to kiss you, the other day, in the library, Bishop.”

Samuel’s head snapped back up at the sound of His Majesty’s voice, lilting with his heavy accent and dripping with amusement. The bishop wanted to sink through the floor and disappear. The panicky hope that had been fluttering within him turned to stony disappointment.

“I’m so sorry, Majesty, please, accept my deepest and most humble apolo-” Samuel was blathering, and cut himself off only when the King waved a lazy hand.

He took a weak little step back when Frederick stood and swept down the steps of the dais, heavy mantle presenting him as the definition of royalty. Samuel couldn’t breathe. Frederick stopped just hardly a breath away from him, eyes cool, completely invading Samuel’s space.

“Your apology is unnecessary. I would, however, ask your consent.” His Majesty’s voice was low and rough, and Samuel tried to keep his knees from buckling beneath him.

“M-My consent, Your Highness?” He squeaked, eyes wide as Frederick loomed ever closer.

“For another kiss, of course.” Frederick's voice was flippant, and Samuel found himself nodding almost jerkily in his eagerness.

“Yes, Highness, anything for you, of course I-”

The King, growing impatient, grasped Samuel by the biceps and drew him into a heady kiss, tracing the seam of the bishops’ mouth with his tongue. Samuel whimpered, and Frederick released his arms to grip his waist. Samuel kissed back after a moment of struggling to gather his wits, and hesitantly placed his hands on Frederick's chest.

His fingers sank into the plush mink fur, and he gripped there at Frederick's mantel, desperate for more contact. Frederick's thigh snuck between Samuel’s legs, and the bishop crumpled a little. Frederick did a lovely job of holding him up, one hand moving from Sam’s waist to grab his ass.

Samuel squeaked again, and Frederick nipped his lower lip. The bishop clung tighter to His Majesty, kissing back fiercely and with abandon. When they finally parted for air, Frederick nuzzled against Samuel’s cheek.

“Your services to the Crown do not go unappreciated.” The King murmured, and Samuel found himself laughing a little, still holding two handfuls of Frederick's fur capelet.

“Do all the American bishops get to service their King in such a manner, Your Majesty?” He asked cheekily, still feeling wanton from their kiss.

Frederick's smile played across his face again, and Samuel briefly thought he never wanted to see it leave. “Only the beautiful ones.” The King answered, punctuating the last syllable with another playful kiss. “So, you.”

Samuel’s flush darkened, and he leaned in to continue kissing Frederick. They stood that way for a long time, Samuel’s arms eventually traveling up to drape about the King’s neck. A sharp knock and a cleared throat sent Samuel tripping over himself to move away from Frederick, fearing for the both of them. Sodomy, after all, was illegal.

Frederick, however, seemed widely unamused, and when he turned to the man interrupting them, a frown crossed his face. “What is it, North?”

The Prime Minister made a face, and gestured with his pocket watch in hand. “We didn’t have time to squeeze this meeting into your schedule, Majesty, let alone have you spend such a long time…acquainting yourself, with this bishop.”

Samuel wanted to sink into the floor again, but Frederick waved Lord North off dismissively. His rings gleamed in the light streaming in from the tall windows. Samuel never wanted to let Frederick from his sight. The King’s voice brought him back to the present.

“Very well, bring him to my chambers. What idiots do I have audience with now?” The reluctance was thick in His Majesty’s voice, and Samuel’s heart raced.

“Henry Pelham, he needs to speak with you on Whig going-ons.”

Sam spoke up in a small voice when Frederick snorted derisively. “Your c-chambers, Majesty?”

Frederick turned to him, eyes soft. “Yes, you don’t mind awaiting my completion of the days’ tasks, do you? North, have a servant bring him something to eat. And start a fire in the hearth.”

The Prime Minister pursed his lips, then turned and nodded in Samuel’s direction. The bishop scrambled to follow Lord North out of the door in the rear of His Majesty’s throne room. He cast a final glance over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of Frederick raising a hand to his lips, covering a smile as he alighted on his throne.

Breathlessly, he directed an inquiry at North. “Does His Majesty… I mean, is this something that happens often?” The answer, whatever it would be, would frighten him either way.

North didn’t pause to look at him as they made their ways through the hall. “Not in a long time. He’s taken to you. After whatever occurred between you two the other evening, he demanded to know who you were. Shoved aside a meeting to put you in his schedule.” North sighed as he plucked a key from his pocket and unlocked a door.

Samuel entered, hands shaking again, a little. He looked around the room. It was beautiful, overlooking the gardens behind St. James. North gestured at the bed. “I suppose you can wait there. A servant will be in shortly to get you something to eat.” He paused for a moment, than appraised Samuel. “His Majesty does not take these…sensibilities, lightly. You’ll keep this quiet, is that understood?”

The answering nod Samuel provided was frantic. North inclined his chin to him, then turned and took his leave, closing the door behind him. Samuel hesitantly moved to sit on the bed, admiring the high-count quality linens. He supposed he hadn’t intended to kiss His Majesty, either, but if this was where the King wanted him, this was where he would stay. It wasn’t a bad place to be in the slightest.


	27. “Can we go someplace high so I can jump off it?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 27\. “Can we go someplace high so I can jump off it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Does this prompt look like it should result in sex???? no. Does it??? maybe. This is published separately as well, as all smutty oneshots shall be. This was inspired by eggheadburr on tumblr posting some headcanons.

Samuel had always known that Frederick was devious, but he never imagined that he would be in a situation such as this. He enjoyed being put in his place by His Majesty whenever things proved too stressful, and such a time was now. His experience with London society was limited, and so when he’d made an errant comment to a member of his parish and had been given a stern tongue-lashing, he’d felt miserable. Sam had moped into Frederick's chambers, flopping face-first onto His Highness’ bed.

The King merely raised a brow, not bothering to look up from whatever work he was completing. “Samuel,” He called, voice light but carrying an edge to it. “Come here.”

Samuel was reluctant to obey, and he slouched his way over to Frederick's writing desk much slower than necessary, his arms folded tightly across his chest. Frederick still didn’t look up. Samuel waited. Frederick did not speak. The bishop began to feel his petty apathy waning into anxiety, and he bit his lip, chewing on his frown.

When His Majesty finished writing whatever piece of correspondence he’d been working on, he sealed the missive with wax, then scooted his chair back a little. “Strip.” The command came quietly, and Samuel stamped down the urge to scramble to comply.

“No.” Samuel was deeply impressed with himself that his voice didn’t shake.

Frederick paused from where he was reaching for another sheet of parchment. “What was that, darling?”

“I said, _no_ ,” Samuel insisted, drawing his brows together and trying to compose an angry expression on his face.

The King stood, slowly, rising to his full height and looking down his nose at Samuel. “Strip, Samuel.” He ordered, tone sharp and cold.

Samuel swallowed tightly, staring hard at Frederick. This went on until Frederick's jaw clenched, and the bishop’s hands immediately came up to undo his cravat. Frederick watched him until he began to work on divesting himself of his undershirt, than sat. Samuel’s clothes formed a pool around him, until he stood naked, before the King.

Frederick adjusted his chair minutely and spread his legs, motioning silently with one hand to the space between them. Sam sank to his knees and promptly occupied that space, reaching to touch Frederick's thighs.

He found a hand being smacked aside, and he looked up with wide eyes. “Fred-”

“You will address me as _Your Majesty_ , or not at all, Bishop Seabury.” Frederick kept his voice steady, that infuriating smugness collected behind a mask of control. “And you will keep your hands to yourself. You don’t deserve to touch royalty, until you’ve proven yourself worth it.”

Samuel licked his lips, mouth suddenly very dry. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Very good.” Frederick patted him on the head, then casually unlaced his breeches. “Get to it, then.”

Samuel used his hand only to guide Frederick's cock into his mouth, than closed his eyes, relaxed his jaw, and got comfortable. The sound of Frederick's quill on parchment was deliciously normal, and Samuel ran his tongue carefully over the head of the King’s cock. Frederick's writing continued on, unfettered, and Sam hollowed his cheeks out a little, giving Frederick's cockhead a proper pass with his tongue.

“Behave, Seabury.” Frederick sounded bored, but Samuel could feel him hardening in his mouth.

Nevertheless, he ceased in his ministrations, simply content to sit and warm Frederick's cock with his throat. Every movement the King made was intensified by their closeness. Samuel closed his eyes and hummed very quietly. Frederick's thighs twitched. Sam smiled around his mouthful and shifted again, his legs beginning to ache from staying in one position for so long.

Frederick had just finished a third letter since Samuel had taken his cock in his mouth, when a knock sounded at the door. Samuel immediately made to move away, but found Frederick's hand cupping the back of his head, chiding him back into place. Samuel’s eyes widened a little when the King’s voice called out, “Enter.”

He’d never expected to be in this situation.

A servant crossed the threshold, bearing a tray that held their dinner. Samuel squeezed his eyes shut, embarrassed beyond belief. “Set it there,” Frederick instructed, voice even and calm. The sound of metal on wood rang out, and then, that of the door closing.

Samuel moved to pull back once more, but again, found Frederick's hand in his hair. He mewled. “Hush.” Frederick murmured, as the hand in Samuel’s hair disappeared, replaced by silverware clinking. “I told you to behave.”

The bishop made another little sound, and Frederick sighed softly. “You know you were being disrespectful. Why should I allow you to do as you wish now, too?”

When Samuel stayed dutifully with his mouth around Frederick's cock, the King murmured, “Good boy. See, that isn’t so hard, is it?” Fingers carded through Samuel’s hair, and Frederick shifted a little. “Come up here.”

Samuel slid back and looked up, knees popping a little as he moved to settle in Frederick's lap. The King's hands were gentle when they ran down his sides, the lacy cuffs of his shirt sleeves tickling the bishop. Samuel squirmed a little, before settling, a little pout on his face. He so enjoyed when Frederick took control in this manner to settle his nerves. It was humiliating, and that’s what Sam enjoyed.

For appearance’s sake, he mumbled, “Can we go somewhere high so I can jump off it?”

The sound of Frederick's hand slapping him across the ass registered before the sting did. Samuel made a strained sound, a mix of pleasure and surprise. His hips rolled a little, and he was suddenly all too aware of Frederick's hard length between them.

“Don’t say things like that.” Frederick said sharply, smoothing a cool hand over the skin he’d reddened with the strike he’d bestowed there. “You’re not permitted. We’ll go back to silence, if you wish.”

Samuel shook his head, tucking his face into Frederick's neck. The hand that wasn’t on his ass slid up to cup the nape of his neck, drawing him into a gentle kiss. Samuel melted into the King’s touch, and rocked his hips again, a little more insistently. Frederick made a muffled noise into Sam’s mouth. His Majesty broke the kiss and appraised Samuel, his eyes dark.

“Would you like for me to fuck you, Sammy, darling?” He asked, voice sweet as he caressed Sam’s cheek. “Will that help?”

Sam nodded blindly, already fumbling with Frederick's cravat. The King giggled wickedly, batting Sam’s hands aside, then stood, taking Samuel into his arms. Samuel, although he was skinny and much smaller than Frederick, was always impressed by shows of His Majesty’s strength, and he whimpered when Frederick laid him out across the large bed.

The King shifted to kneel between his legs, one hand trailing down Sam’s inner thigh. The bishop’s legs fell open at the delicate touch, and he hissed George’s name. The King looked up briefly, than reached over and collected the vial of scented oil he kept in the nightstand.

“The real inquiry though, is, do you deserve it?” Frederick's voice had taken on that controlling edge again, and Sam shivered.

“Yes, Your Highness.” He answered quickly, reaching up to tug at Frederick's cravat again.

The action was permitted, and the cravat was discarded off over the edge of the bed. Frederick settled closer, knees pushing Sam’s legs apart. Sam licked his lips and undid the buttons on Frederick's waistcoat. Frederick shrugged the article of clothing off, and it too, was banished to the floor.

After that, Samuel’s hands were quickly claimed and pinned above his head. “Keep them there,” Frederick purred, and Samuel had to take up fistfuls of feather down pillows to obey the command.

His Majesty took his sweet time removing his rings, setting them one by one on the top of the nightstand. Samuel watched with hooded eyes. When the task was completed, Frederick slicked his fingers with the oil from the vial, then without further ado, pressed one into Sam.

The bishop whimpered and clenched his hands in the pillows, turning his face aside so Frederick couldn’t mock how wide his pupils had blown. A second finger joined the first, and Samuel struggled to relax to accommodate the sudden intrusion. His Majesty slowly curled them, first together, than alternating, and Sam found it much simpler to relax than he’d thought it would be.

When he began to cant his hips into the thrusts of Frederick's hand, the King added a third finger. Samuel twisted his hands further into the pillows, whining, and Frederick disappeared for a moment, slicking himself before returning to his designated place between Sam’s thighs.

Sam looked up at the other’s prompting, a soft hand on his cheek, and met Frederick's gaze. It was only when Samuel locked eyes with the King that he began to press in. Sam’s hips jerked a little, and Frederick seated himself quicker than he’d mean to, arms shaking from the strain of holding himself aloft atop the other.

The bishop could see the idea forming behind Frederick's eyes, and he felt almost wary when the King slipped back out as quickly as he’d entered Sam. Samuel groaned in frustration and reached to grab at Frederick's shirt, but the King was already busy flipping them over.

Sam found himself straddling Frederick's hips after a moment of clumsy maneuvering, and he gawked at the smirking King with wide eyes. “Fre-”

His Majesty cut Sam off with a look alone, reminding him that he was still supposed to be playing the part of the subjugated, and he swallowed heavily. It took him a few slippery tries, but after what seemed to be forever, Samuel managed to guide Frederick's cock to his entrance and sink back down onto it.

Frederick broke character briefly, hands flying up to grab Sam’s hips as he moaned. Sam grinned, shuddering as Frederick dug his perfectly manicured nails into Samuel’s sides. The bishop paused to adjust to the unfamiliar angle, then rose up and sat down in one fluid motion.

“ _Sammy_ ,” Frederick's voice was high and broken, and Samuel’s grin brightened. He repeated the motion. Frederick's eyes rolled a little.

Positions reversed both physically and mentally, Sam gently removed Frederick's hands from his waist and stretched them out over his head. Frederick watched with great interest, both brows raised. Samuel thought he was rather pretty laid out beneath him. He rocked his hips. The fiery defiance that had been building in Frederick's eyes melted away.

The rest of their coupling, once Samuel got into a rhythm, was rushed. Although Sam’s limbs trembled with the exertion of riding the King, he discovered it to be worth it, what with the faces and sounds he was coaxing out of Frederick. It was rare His Majesty lost control, even during sex.

Sam briefly wondered what it would like to be the one to fuck Frederick. That was the thought that sent him over the edge, spilling across Frederick's stomach, his head tilted back, hips bucking frantically. The spasms of his muscles drew Frederick's orgasm out, and the King wrenched his hands free of Sam’s grip to hold onto him again.

The two sank into each others’ embrace, panting, and Frederick groaned when Samuel slid off to his side. Sam lay with a leg still hooked over Frederick's hips, his hair sweaty and disheveled. Frederick raised a weak hand to brush the strands from Samuel’s forehead, then leaned in to kiss him.

They shared their afterglow, and Sam hummed happily, lips following a nonsensical path about the other’s chest. Frederick made a low sound in response in the back of his throat, then cast an eye across the room to his writing desk.

“We’ve let dinner go cold.” He murmured, continuing to stroke Sam’s hair.

Sam laughed a little, nuzzling into Frederick's neck. “It’s okay.” He looked into the King's face, and his thank you went unspoken.

He wondered if Frederick would be open to trying, the next time he felt upset, their positions reversed. The thought made his cock twitch half-heartedly, and he grinned before kissing His Majesty. Frederick chose not to question it, pleased that Samuel was feeling better as a direct result of his actions.

* * *

 


	28. “I didn’t lose it, I just misplaced it.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 28\. “I didn’t lose it, I just misplaced it.”

The first thing Samuel noticed about Frederick when the King slunk into the church that morning was that he looked much less intimidating without his crown. He walked with his eyes securely on his toes, toying with the frills of one sleeve cuff. Samuel raised his eyebrows and stood from where he was sitting on the dais steps, thumbing through his notes on the sermon he was scheduled to deliver in an hour or so.

He met Frederick half way down the aisle and smiled at him a little, sensing something was up. “Your Highness.” He greeted, folding his arms across his chest. “What a pleasant surprise to have your presence in the church.” Samuel teased him, his voice light.

Frederick looked up, anxiety written across his features, and the amusement faded from Samuel’s face. “Freddy?” He pressed, reaching out to touch the King’s wrist lightly. “What happened?”

“Have you…happened to have seen my crown?” Frederick asked, looking entirely sheepish.

Samuel snorted and rolled his eyes. “Of course not, silly. Why?”

When Frederick looked back down at his feet, Sam’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You lost it? _Frederick_!”

“I didn’t lose it, I just misplaced it!” The King turned his face back to Sam, pouting. “I probably put it down somewhere and walked off. I just don’t remember where.”

“It’s worth more than most people make their entire lives!” Samuel rubbed his temples a little, straining not to shout at the other. It was the little things like this that drove him mad, reminded him just how high upon the seat of luxury Frederick perched. “And it wouldn’t be in here anyways, you never attend services.”

Frederick opened and closed his mouth, still pouting. “I wanted your help looking for it.” He mumbled, fingers plucking again at his sleeve cuff.

Samuel deflated a little, then sighed. “I have a service in a little bit. I’ll look with you afterwards if you haven’t found it yet.” He gently pressed a kiss to the King’s forehead. “It’ll be okay.”

His Majesty flushed lightly and nodded, turning to take his leave. Sam watched him go, shaking his head. The King, although a great man, was a little vacant-minded sometimes.  


	29. “Prepare to be amazed.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 29\. “Prepare to be amazed.”

Drawing wasn’t really something Samuel had ever had second thoughts about. It was easy, and something he did to take his mind off stress. He’d never hidden it, per say, but it wasn’t like he flaunted his talents, either. He was, after all, rather good. Perhaps not as good as John Andre, or the court painter, but he did have a certain happy skill for drawing.

He had never expected Frederick to find out.

It happened one day when Sam was attending court. He sat to the back of the room, watching the going-ons with the bare minimum of curiosity. Court was dreadfully boring. He didn’t know how Frederick sat there, day in and day out, listening to endless complaints. At least it wasn’t as bad as Parliament.

Samuel brought with him his little sketching book, and scratched away in it absentmindedly. He drew the grand audience chambers. He drew the vehement man shouting about his crop taxes. He drew Frederick. His sketching book was full of Frederick. The King on his throne, as Sam drew him now, bored and looking sour in the face. The King in the gardens, holding a rose a loft and chattering on about his day. The King asleep in his ridiculously large bed, the King at his writing desk, the King laughing, the King on horseback, the King, doing anything Samuel could think of.

His time spent observing His Majesty all returned to life through charcoal or graphite. The bishop oftentimes felt as if he were a maiden obsessing over her suitor. He didn’t mind, and neither did Frederick. His Highness had proved time and time again he loved attention, and Samuel was happy to provide it to him.

Samuel did not notice when Frederick dismissed his guards and brought the proceedings of court to a close for the day. He did not notice when Frederick moved across the room to stand before the stiff-backed chair was in, hunching over his work. He did, however, notice when Frederick bent and murmured, “I didn’t know you were an artist.”

The bishop yelped and slammed his book shut, eyes snapping to Frederick's face. “ _Freddy_ ,” He hissed, a little frown coming up across his face. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

The King raised a brow elegantly and extended a hand, but his eyes lingered on Sam’s sketching book. Samuel clutched it tighter, possessively. Frederick's gaze flickered to Samuel’s face.

“Come along, dear. Dinner?” He asked, pulling Sam to his feet when Samuel took his hand.

The American nodded and pressed a kiss to Frederick's cheek before slipping his sketching book into his pocket. Frederick dropped the subject after that, until he caught Sam drawing a second time.

Through with their amorous time for the night, Frederick lay asleep, sprawled comfortably on his bed, half-concealed by the covers. It was a beautiful sight, and Sam, sleepy and debauched, rummaged through his nightstand drawer for his sketching book and a nib of graphite.

Drawing Frederick soothed him. He cherished the art, for when he ultimately had to return to the colonies, he would have pieces of Frederick with him. Moments, captured, like this one. Warmth bloomed in Sam’s chest as he repetitively glanced up to ensure he was capturing Frederick's likeness correctly.

When he looked up to find Frederick's eyes opened to slits, a little smile on the King’s face, he flushed and quickly closed the book. Frederick blinked, then closed his eyes. It was very obvious that His Majesty was hoping to goad Samuel into finishing the drawing.

Sam swallowed tightly, and returned to the task at hand. By the time it was completed, Frederick had drifted back off into a light sleep. The bishop gently stroked Frederick's hair from his face, then turned and opened the nightstand drawer, intent on tucking his sketching book away.

The King piped up in a small, hopeful voice, “May I see the finished product?”

Samuel paused, half-way to closing the drawer, then slowly turned back to Frederick. He appraised His Majesty’s curious gaze and little pout, and smiled a little, producing the drawing. “Prepare to be amazed,” Sam said lightly to cover his nerves as he handed the book to Frederick, then closed his eyes. He didn’t want to see Frederick's reaction, afraid that perhaps he might dislike the drawing of himself.

After a long moment of silence, Frederick spoke. “These are quite good.”

Samuel cracked one eye open. Frederick had flipped the page backwards. Upon it was a likeness of Frederick sitting upon his throne, looking positively vicious as he denied whatever petty request the figure before him had made. Sam blushed.

“You don’t have to lie.” He said humbly, picking at the blankets a little.

Frederick scoffed. “Can you paint?”

“A little.” Sam admitted, watching as Frederick traced a careful finger across a drawing.

“I’d like you to do my next portrait.” Frederick said matter-of-factly.

Samuel’s eyes widened. “Your Majesty, I’m not sure that my art is suitable for that caliber of a project.” He stumbled over his words, falling back on Frederick's titles to distance himself from the touching request.

The King rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me by titles in bed.” He said, first, then continued. “And your art is more than suitable. The images of me you’ve captured are endearing. You’ll do my next portrait.”

And that settled it. Sam opened his mouth to object, then thought on it and sighed, settling back down. He took the book when Frederick offered it, and tucked it away. When he kissed Frederick, the King nipped his bottom lip and said thoughtfully, “Perhaps it shall be done in the nude. I do rather like your interpretations of me.”

Sam smacked him across the arm lightly. “I will not be painting your royal portrait of you in the nude. I simply will not.” His voice was strong and certain, but he felt that warmth bubbling inside him again at Frederick's teasing.

He was absolutely pleased that Frederick liked his art.

Frederick laughed a little and kissed Sam again. They nuzzled there, together, for a long while. The King broke the silence, whispering into Samuel’s hair, “You draw me like I am Achilles.”

Samuel huffed a little against George’s collarbone. “That would make me Patroclus, but you’re not allowed to leave me.”

Frederick smiled softly. “Of course not.”

Samuel briefly wished he’d shown Frederick his art sooner. The King, after all, did thrive on attention. Mostly, though, he was just happy Frederick liked his work.


	30. “I’m fine.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 30\. “I’m fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving!

Frederick's breath was coming, as it always did during times like this, in short little huffs through his nose. Samuel smiled to himself, hand curled in Frederick's hair as the King swallowed down his length. The bishop sat at Frederick's writing desk, legs splayed, one elbow draped over the back of his chair. He was proud to appear to be, in that moment, the picture of sophisticated dominance.

His Majesty looked absolutely wrecked, eyes watery with unshed tears, his lips red from the abuse they were receiving. Samuel’s smile brightened a little, and he tightened his grip in Frederick's hair. The King immediately redoubled his efforts, whining in the back of his throat. The vibrations sent a particularly pleasurable shiver up Samuel’s spine, and he murmured, “ _Good_ , Freddy. That’s very good.”

Frederick glanced up through his lashes, then swallowed. Sam groaned, guiding him off his cock and hauling him up into a kiss. The King settled in Sam’s lap, his regal attire all askew. Samuel made quick work of the other’s cravat, jerking it off hard enough to leave little rubbed marks on Frederick's neck.

Frederick shifted a little, impatiently, as Samuel opened his waistcoat and divested him of both it and his shirt. The King reached for the ties of his breeches and was rewarded with a sharp bite against his jaw. He canted his hips forward, an impatient mewl working its way out of him. Samuel laughed against his neck and gestured.

His Majesty scrambled to stand, peeling off his breeches and stockings. Samuel watched, then motioned again. Frederick dragged him towards the bed, trading kisses and nibbles as he fell backwards, the bishop atop him, and moved towards the headboard. Samuel shoved Frederick's legs apart and made his way between them. The King grappled a little with what remained of Sam’s clothes, and soon, they lay, rutting lazily against one another.

“Easy, Your Highness,” Sam purred against the shell of Frederick's ear, one hand running across the back of Frederick's thigh. “There’s a good boy.”

Frederick whimpered and clung tighter around Sam’s neck, his piercing eyes pleading. All the intimidating aura he carried as His Majesty had melted away and left him as George William Frederick. He’d had a particularly bad day dealing with Parliament, and Samuel was making to rectify that.

Sam pulled away briefly to slick his fingers with oil, watching carefully for Frederick's reaction. The King had all but stopped breathing, eyes wide, face red. Samuel raised an eyebrow, inviting any hesitance to make itself clear. Frederick looked away. Sam settled back between his legs.

They kissed. It was all very romantic, once they settled into it. Samuel, with his clean hand, traced the edge of Frederick's jaw, grinding gently against him. Frederick relaxed again, murmuring senselessly against Sam’s lips. The bishop’s slicked fingers found their way soon enough between them, one digit circling the King’s entrance.

Frederick stopped the little motions of his hips and paused, looking aside shyly, before meeting Sam’s curious gaze. “I think I’d like for you to…” Frederick hesitated again, and Sam kissed his forehead. “I want you to fuck me, Sammy.”

The bishop bit his lower lip and had to take a deep breath to calm himself. He’d been waiting a long while for Frederick to say those words. Carefully, he nudged past George’s tight entrance with one finger, eyes fixed upon his face. Frederick looked discomforted, but not horribly so, and Sam pressed in further.

The King tried his best to relax, hands flexing upon Samuel’s shoulders, his nails biting little half-moons into the bishop’s skin. He screwed his eyes shut and hissed when Samuel began to gently fuck him with the single finger. It wasn’t a bad feeling, just, very odd.

Samuel’s mouth caught Frederick's and he distracted him with a slow, gentle kiss. Frederick found himself relaxing after several long minutes of Sam working his finger, and only tensed back up upon Samuel adding a second finger. The intrusion burned, and Frederick squirmed a little against it. His lips parted in a little gasp as Sam crooked his fingers. Thus far, nothing made him shriek the way Sam did when he pressed upon that certain spot within him. It seemed as if Sam simply hadn’t located it yet. Frederick rather hoped he hurried up.

Cock leaking against his stomach, Frederick turned his gaze away from what was happening between his legs. He was glad Samuel’s body hid most of the going-ons. It embarrassed him a little, to be the submissive partner, but he wanted to try, and Samuel’s reaction to the idea had been more than enough to convince him to go through with it. His bishop was always on the receiving end. The least Frederick could do was provide him respite from that position.

Sam slipped in his third finger while Frederick was distracting himself with worry, drawing a sharp whine out of the King. He looked up, ensuring he hadn’t hurt Frederick. “Are you alright?” He asked softly, concern written across his face. “Should I stop?”

“I’m fine,” Frederick gasped, the muscles in his legs spasming a little. “It’s just—it’s very odd.” His brows furrowed, and Samuel fought the urge to laugh at him. He was very endearing.

The bishop instead pressed a kiss to Frederick's forehead, and continued to work him open. When he was perhaps as loose as possible, Samuel pulled away to slick his cock. Frederick watched that with interest, eyes hazy with desire. His own length had only waned slightly during the preparation process, a testimony to his trust in and adoration of Samuel.

Sam took a moment to kiss Frederick fiercely, hands roaming down to his hips. “I love you, Freddy. Tell me to stop if you don’t like it.” His voice was sweet, as always, but strained with the effort it took to wait for so long for something he’d wanted so badly.

Frederick nodded a little dumbly, and spread his legs further when Samuel prompted him to do so. Samuel kissed the King again once more, than lined himself up and took a deep breath. Frederick did the same, and Sam huffed softly. “Relax, don’t hold your breath.”

The King nodded again and tried to breathe slowly. Samuel ran a soothing hand up his inner thigh and grasped his cock, giving him a few heady pumps. Frederick's hips lifted, and he groaned a little, his body responding to the touch by going lax.

Samuel took the opportunity to press his cockhead into the other. Frederick's voice caught in his throat and his hands flew to grab at Samuel’s shoulders, his eyes wide. Samuel watched him intently, prepared for, at any moment, to be told to stop. Frederick's chest heaved, and he licked his lips before inclining his chin to give Samuel leave to continue.

The bishop inched forward, carefully seating himself inside Frederick. The process was long and rather unflattering, as Frederick's hardon all but waned completely. When Samuel finally bottomed-out inside the other, Frederick's lip was bleeding from the King biting at it, and one of Samuel’s hands had been grabbed at so hard that his knuckles had cracked.

It wasn’t exactly picture-perfect, but Samuel felt as though he’d reached Heaven nonetheless, the delicious tightness of Frederick around his cock making him tremble with adrenaline. Frederick had long turned his face aside, blinking away tears. The discomfort wasn’t overwhelming, but it did hurt.

Samuel bent to kiss his cheek, and the little shift made him whimper. The bishop paused, squeezing Frederick's hand. “Are you sure you’re alright? I don’t want to hurt you.”

Frederick swallowed tightly and looked at Sam, admiring how flushed he looked. He had often deigned it acceptable to suck Sam’s cock, but to actually accept another inside him? It was beneath his station, he presumed. However, the painful intrusion would be worth it, if Sam would keep looking at him that way.

The King nodded. “’m alright, Sammy. P-Please.” He was ashamed at how weak his voice was, but Samuel’s eyes lit up, and he stooped again for a proper kiss.

Frederick lost himself in that territory. It was familiar, and very gentle. He’d almost forgotten the pain when Sam gently nudged his hips forward. Frederick wrenched away from the kiss, freeing his hand from Sam’s to instead grasp at the other’s back. Samuel winced a little at the pain of Frederick's manicured nails scoring lines into his shoulders.

He let Frederick anticipate the next thrust, and pulled back a little before easing back in. Frederick made a face. Samuel felt half-way between laughing and moaning. He repeated the action. The lines in Frederick's forehead gradually began to smooth out at his body accommodated Sam’s motions. He began to make his thrusts a little deeper, still keeping the slow pace.

So far, the action wasn’t terribly pleasant, but Frederick was relaxing, and it wasn’t half as bad as he thought it would be. He hummed gently, kissing at the corner of Samuel’s mouth.

Sam reached for the vial of oil and pulled out to smear a palmful over his cock, than pressed back into Frederick. The King’s breath audibly hitched. That piqued Sam’s interest. He wiped his hand off on the covers, than reached back and slowly guided one of Frederick's legs up a little further, changing the angle.

Frederick breathed out slowly, tucking his heel into the small of Sam’s back. Sam watched Frederick's face, then experimentally rolled his hips. The King arched his back a little, lips parting in surprise. “Oh.” He said softly, eyes wide. “That…Sammy?”

Sam grinned. “Like that?” He asked, voice rougher than he’d thought it would be.

“Yes?” Frederick answered, almost as if it were a question, his hair sweaty against his forehead.

Samuel appraised him, laying in the candlelight entirely debauched, allowing himself to be tainted by the bishop’s cock. It sent a searing bolt of pleasure up Samuel’s spine, to think of the situation that way. Gently, he ground his hips forward again.

Frederick mewled softly, and clung tighter around Samuel’s neck. Samuel bowed over him to make it easier for him to hold onto him, then kissed Frederick. He touched their noses together, than thrusted again. Frederick _shrieked_.

His voice broke in surprise, his eyes wide with shock, and Samuel grinned, promptly shifting back and edging forward again to hit that same spot. Frederick's nails raked down his back without abandon, and he knew there would be violent red lines there in the morning. Samuel gripped Frederick's other thigh, bringing it up to wrap around his waist like the other.

Frederick complied, cheeks burning, eyes hazy with pleasure. Once he’d hooked his ankle together, Sam drew back and thrusted into him with a little more force. Frederick's head fell to the side on the pillow, a loud moan torn from his lips. Samuel’s grin brightened. He was immensely proud of himself.

He adjusted himself above Frederick, holding himself aloft, and began to fuck the King in earnest. Frederick was just as loud bottoming as he was when their roles were reversed, if not louder. He sobbed a little, clawing at Sam’s back. The bishop carried on with deep, hard motions.

Frederick arched his back and used his legs to hold Sam to him, voice reduced to nothing but babbling. He cried out when Sam delivered a particularly aggressive thrust, squirming under him. Samuel snarled, close already, and sank his teeth into George’s shoulder, something that Frederick was fond of doing himself.

The King cried out again, hips snapping up, and Sam reached between them to stroke his cock. Frederick's eyes rolled back, and with one more solid thrust, he came spectacularly into Sam’s hand with a broken shout. Samuel fucked him through his orgasm right into his own, spilling into the King and burying his face in his neck.

Frederick was shaking like a leaf in a winter gale when Samuel came back to his senses. He pulled back, panting, to inspect the other. Frederick looked a right mess, his eyes half-lidded, his cheeks still ruddy and streaked with tears.

Samuel kissed him, holding him tightly, before gently pulling away. His cock slipped free of the King’s body, and Frederick's legs fell from where they were perched about Sam’s hips. A little murmur of delight came from Frederick, and Samuel watched with giddy satisfaction as some of his spend leaked from the King.

Frederick reached for him when he slid from bed, and he hushed the other with a kiss to the temple. He returned with a warm, wet cloth, and cleaned the both of them. When that task had been completed to his satisfaction, he tossed it to the floor and returned to Frederick's side.

Samuel draped an arm around Frederick's waist, holding him close and kissing his neck gently. “Was that acceptable, Your Majesty?” He teased a little, nibbling on Frederick's ear.

The King made a soft noise of agreement, snuggling into Sam’s chest and fighting a yawn. Samuel kissed the top of his head, stroking gentle paths down his back. “Good. Go to sleep, darling.”

Frederick kissed a weary little mark on Sam’s shoulder, eyes already closed. His day had turned out very well. Samuel smiled at his King and kissed his cheek, than settled in to sleep himself.


	31. “Where’s your God now?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 31\. “Where’s your God now?”

Samuel hadn’t seen Frederick so incensed since he’d received the Declaration of Independence from his colonies. The Treaty of Paris hadn’t gone very well, in all honesty. Frederick had refused to go, nor had he allowed Lord North to go, instead preferring to send some meager Parliamentary representative. Samuel rather thought him lucky that the American representatives didn’t think his refusal to attend the ceremony offensive.

He had said as much, and it had proven to be a mistake. Samuel knew Frederick had a temper to him. The King flew into a rage, shouting not at Samuel, but more at himself. He strode across his throne room, infuriated and all too loud for Sam’s comfort. He’d ended his triad by pointing at Sam and snarling, “Where’s your God now?” before sinking into his throne and breaking down into sobs.

And now, late in September, Frederick lay prone, yet again, refusing to eat or move. He slept most of his days away. Samuel had only recently been permitted access to his chambers, by an irate Lord North, who claimed, “His Majesty will see no one. You might as well try and talk some sense into him. At least make him _eat_.”

Samuel brought him bread and cheese and milk. Frederick refused everything. Samuel tended the fire, wrote correspondence in Frederick's name, and sat dutifully at his side. He most frequently found himself reading, propped against the headboard, threading his fingers through Frederick's unkempt and now rather long ginger hair.

He finished several novels by the time Frederick was willing to eat. He shared the meal, as meager as it was, with the King, and slipped from the room at top-speed when His Majesty requested more. The King became solidly reserved, and quietly signed the documents Lord North needed signed.

Frederick lay on the bed, eating what was presented to him (finally), and sleeping less. Samuel stayed with him, reading and drawing and writing. Frederick didn’t let Samuel touch him when he was awake, and he continued to practice his new habit of nonverbal communication.

Long weeks passed before Samuel could coax Frederick back outside to stroll the gardens, let alone attend to court. They both knew Lord North was more than capable of handling His Majesty’s absence. When Frederick did emerge from his room, he wore dark clothing. It was only then that Samuel realized he was in a period of mourning.

The bishop received a letter calling him back to his parish in America, and absentmindedly mentioned it to Frederick . The King’s head had snapped up from where he was slowly but steadily attending to the backlog of paperwork that had piled upon his writing desk. It was the first time since the beginning of the month Frederick had reacted directly to something Sam had said.

Sam blinked, appraising the King from his perch on the bed. Frederick was unshaven, his hair pulled back into a stubby ponytail to keep it from his face. His fingers were stained with ink, and he had dark rings under his eyes. He looked desperate, his eyes locked on Sam’s face.

“I won’t go.” Samuel whispered, heart fluttering at the realization that Frederick's reaction was to the notion of him returning to America. “I won’t leave you.”

Frederick's entire being crumpled, and Samuel rushed from where he was laying on the bed to collect Frederick into his arms. The King wept, burying his face in Sam’s shoulder, and Sam held him. They sat there for a very long time. Sam stroked Frederick's hair, humming softly as he cried.

When Frederick settled, Sam moved them to the bed, tucking the both of them under the covers and holding the King’s hands possessively in his own. Frederick drifted off to sleep under Sam’s watchful gaze, the bishop continuously reaffirming that he was staying, that he wouldn’t ever go, that Frederick could trust him.

The next morning, when they both awoke, Frederick kissed Sam. Samuel felt his heart might beat out of his chest, and his hands shook when they stroked up along the plane of Frederick's back to settle, open-palmed, on his shoulders. Their lovemaking was slow and indulgent, and Frederick spoke finally, when he came, Sam’s name the first word on his lips since he’d locked himself away.

Samuel cried. Frederick kissed him more. They lay together, basking, and Frederick mumbled that he wasn’t feeling very good, still, but he wanted Sammy to be happy. Sam thought Frederick should be happy for himself, but he would take the reason to be as good as any if the King’s health were to improve.

Regardless of Frederick's lack of faith, Sam still prayed. Where was his God? Perhaps not with the King, but with Sam. Samuel prayed for Frederick's return to his former glory.


	32. “I’d ask you to stay but I don’t like you.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 32\. “I’d ask you to stay but I don’t like you.”

Frederick had known for a while now, that he loved Samuel. It burned away at his insides every time he saw the bishop, or heard him speak. Frederick had always been possessive, but he knew that this time, he couldn’t have Sam. It was for the bishop’s own good.

The night before Samuel was booked for passage across the sea, back to America, it took everything Frederick had to destroy what they had. He couldn’t deny that it was for Samuel’s safety, but it still ate him up. Frederick knew about Parliament’s plot to have him removed from power, be that through a military coupe or assassination. He couldn’t let Samuel get involved.

They made love. Frederick let Samuel take him. They rested a while, then switched positions and went at it again. They took tea, far into the early hours of morning, and lay together, entwined. Samuel began to speak of his reluctance to go to back to America, and Frederick swallowed the lump in his throat to take the shot.

“I’d ask you to stay, but I don’t like you.” He turned away when he spoke, but his voice was light, off-handed, and casual.

Frederick could practically hear Samuel’s confusion. “I’m sorry?” Sam tried, a little anxious edge in his joking tone.

The King, for that is who he was now, not Frederick, stood, and moved to gaze into the hearth. His eyes were stinging. He managed to repeat himself.

Samuel came to his side. Frederick turned away. “Freddy, what do you mean, you don’t like me?” Sam’s voice was small, his hands questing their way into Frederick's.

Frederick took a low breath, tears beading in his eyes, and looked Samuel in the face when he said, “I’m glad you’re going back to America. Our transgressions have been impeding my attention to my responsibilities as King.”

Samuel’s lips parted silently, and he let Frederick's hands drop.

Frederick barreled on. If he didn’t tear them apart now, he’d write to Samuel, when he was gone, and involve him again. “You’re a wonderful bedpartner, Samuel, but really. I’m the King of the British Empire. I’ve other things to occupy my time with.”

“I see.” Samuel’s voice cracked, and Frederick could feel his presence leave, presumably back to the bed, to gather his clothes and get dressed.

Tears fell down Frederick's cheeks, and he squeezed his own arms in a weak little hug. He could feel his own heart breaking. “Travel safe.” He managed to say, his chest aching with the struggle of not sobbing until Samuel was gone.

The bishop practically fled, leaving Frederick to fold himself into the chair at his writing desk and cry. At least now, if Lord North and Parliament had him slaughtered, Samuel wouldn’t feel so bad for his death. Frederick thought he would prefer death to this, anyways.


	33. “Something about you makes me want to commit extreme violence.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 33\. “Something about you makes me want to commit extreme violence.”

Frederick, although younger than Samuel, aged faster. Samuel attributed his physical decline to stress, and insisted the King join him for more leisurely walks in the garden and took more tea breaks. Frederick claimed to be just fine, _thank you very much_ , but did as Samuel said without hesitation. They were good for each other, and Frederick intended to keep it that way.

The first encounter Frederick had with porphyria had come out of the blue and hit them both very hard. Samuel was afraid of Frederick's next attack, and did all he could to prevent it from ever coming. Frederick was much more frail now. He had never fully gained back the weight he had lost, and was now susceptible to coughing. Frederick didn’t want to admit that the words _Mad King_ , whispered throughout the halls of St. James and the streets of London, crushed him.

He didn’t want Samuel to be near him if the madness came again.

Samuel walked at his side now, one hand in Frederick's. They had long become accepted around the castle, Frederick's sensibilities towards men just stacked as another ingredient to his recipe for insanity. Frederick walked with a cane. It was an unnecessarily fancy thing, with a spiral of gold running up it. It was heavy, and it made Sam laugh. Frederick, even now, in his old age, was extravagant.

They traipsed the gardens, sharing little kisses and touches when they came to a stone bench upon which to sit. A servant drew up a wrought-iron table, and another presented tea. Frederick sent Sam a wry smile, appreciating the arrangements but not willing to shoulder his pride and express that. Sam knew he liked these little gestures already, anyways.

They took their tea together there in the warm spring air, Samuel chattering on about some new religious thesis a Middlesex student had presented him. Frederick listened quietly, nibbling on a pastry and just enjoying the feel of Samuel’s fingers intertwined with his.

When they’d eaten and finished their tea, they made their way out to the riding trails behind the Mews. Samuel led the way, picking over upturned roots and rocks. Frederick followed docilely, more than happy to listen to Sam as he spoke about some happening in America or another.

Returning to the palace proved to be a little more difficult, the two having to stop and rest mid-way up the rolling hill behind Buckingham. Frederick giggled about it, kissing Samuel and murmuring about how perhaps they should take less tea breaks. The scones were clearly going to their legs, and thus, they were having difficulty walking the hill.

Samuel laughed at him and rested his head briefly on Frederick's shoulder. The King slipped his arm around Samuel’s waist, cane resting on the bench, and jibed playfully. Samuel dissolved into laughter, hugging him back, and said, “Something about you makes me want to commit extreme violence.”

“That’s simply because your jests aren’t as funny.” Frederick turned his nose up, suppressing a grin, and looked snooty for a moment.

Samuel snorted and reached up to pull him down for a soft kiss. “I would have a rather hard time committing any violence, anyways, what with all the scones.”

Frederick grinned and kissed Samuel on the cheek. “You’re absolutely right. That’s it. We’ll tax the scones.”

“Don’t you remember the last time you played about with taxes, darling?” Samuel teased, squeezing Frederick's hand.

The King took the comment in stride. He was confident that he and Adams had bridged the gap between their nations, even if the topic was still a little sore. “Yes. I believe you’d rebel if I taxed scones.”

“Oh, that I would.” Samuel huddled close to the King in the warmth of the gardens, holding him tightly.

Frederick might have been fighting with a dreadfully terrifying madness, but in times like this, when his mind was still sharp, it made it all worth it to the both of them.


	34. “It’s not like I missed you or anything.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 34\. “It’s not like I missed you or anything.”

Samuel had to admit that he was a little surprised to see the docks completely free of any royal entourage upon his return to London. He’d been harboring little scenarios of his head, these few long weeks that he’d been voyaging across the Atlantic. Most of them involved Frederick awaiting him in port, decked out in his regal attire, flanked by his guards, and swooning when Sam stepped onto British soil.

These dreams fell flat when the ship docked and there was no one waiting for Sam, not even a carriage to bring him to the palace. The bishop stamped down the feeling of disappointment and reminded himself that Frederick was a busy man. He was the King, after all. He had a war to attend to, and his empire.

Samuel stood, wrapped up in the fine evergreen frock coat Frederick had gifted him, and attempted to hail a cab. One approached, and he lowered his hand. The horse splashed through a puddle, passing him by. Sam grimaced at the mud on his boots and the fabric of his breeches low on his legs. There was no place like London.

The bishop huffed a little and adjusted his rucksack over his shoulder, then headed off towards St. James. Hopefully His Majesty would be attending to his court there. Samuel expected as much. Buckingham was where Frederick went to relax, and if he had time to relax, he had time to come receive his lover back to his presence. Right? Yes, Frederick must have a full schedule. Lord North always worked him particularly hard this time of year.

Samuel was roughly taken out of his anxiety-fueled thoughts when he was suddenly grabbed by the wrist and pulled into a small space between two buildings. He cried out in surprise, but his voice was immediately muffled by a pair of lips covering his own. It took him a second, as he floundered, eyes wide and panicked, to realize that the taller ginger was Frederick .

Sam breathed a relieved little noise, kissing back. Frederick shoved him into the wall, crowding him against the bricks and biting into his lower lip. Samuel whimpered at the intensity of it all, and he reached to claim two fistfuls of Frederick's waistcoat. The King grinned as he pulled back, eyes soft and bright, hair as scruffy as always from being shortened for proper wig-appliance.

The bishop smiled back so hard his face hurt. “Frederick,” He said, voice low and awed.

Frederick's answer was to pull him to his chest and kiss him again, thoroughly, and without regards to the publicity of their situation. Samuel was thankful that Frederick had at least thought to pull them into an alley.

When they parted for air, Sam looked Frederick up and down slowly. His Majesty was dressed in fine clothing, but in muted colors. Sam rather thought he looked good in navy. “What are you doing out and about?” He settled on asking, holding Frederick's hand tightly in both of his own.

“It’s not like I missed you or anything.” Frederick said lightly, beaming at the American. “North wouldn’t let me away from my duties, so I snuck out to wait for you.”

Samuel flushed, knowing they would both be in trouble when they returned to St. James, but it was worth the heat of affection that rose like a tidal wave in him. He surged forward, flattening Frederick up against the opposite wall of the alley, and kissed the King senseless.

Frederick laughed softly and nuzzled into Sam’s hair, holding him close. Lips kiss-swollen, he reluctantly withdrew from the bishop, patting his arm. “Let’s go home, Sammy.”

Samuel smiled. “Let’s.”


	35. “You look like a monkey who’s been strategically shaved.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 35\. “You look like a monkey who’s been strategically shaved.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Most Noble Order of the Garter, as discussed in the #Ham4Ham episode "The Coronation of King George III the Fourth" is a legitimate thing that was founded in the 14th century. George III expanded the limit of 24 members to admit supernumerary members, because he wanted his sons to be apart of it, but couldn't kick the other members out. 
> 
> Please watch the coronation ham4ham.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ul4cI-mJHaw

“Frederick, I don’t need to be _tidied_ ,” Sam whined, making a little bit of a face as the barber lathered cream onto his face and prepared to clean up his sideburns.

“You’ve got to look nice for your induction,” Frederick answered lazily, toying with a comb and sending Samuel a sly look. “You’re to be a supernumerary member of the Order, darling.”

“I know, _dear_ ,” Samuel spoke through gritted teeth, narrowing his eyes at the other as the barber made his first stroke.

Frederick watched with immense satisfaction as his bishop was cleaned up. He had always held that roguish American look, and to see him gentled was a fascinating process. A smile alighted upon Frederick's lips. Sam huffed and closed his eyes pointedly.

The King reclined in a chair beside Sam’s watching the barber do his work. Sam’s face was washed of any cream, and his head guided back into the washbasin to soak his hair. The barber made quick work of his unruly hair, giving him a trim, than handed Samuel a towel to dry his hair, and excused himself with a bow in Frederick's direction.

Frederick picked up a hand mirror and for the sole purpose of withholding it from Sam. Sam toweled off roughly and reached for it, than pursed his lips at the sight of Frederick holding it. His Majesty feigned a look of shock, bringing his free hand to cover his lips delicately, as if hiding a smile. Samuel paled.

The King took a long moment to speak, then said, “You look like a monkey who’s been strategically shaved.”

Samuel lurched forward and snatched the mirror up, holding it to inspect his reflection as Frederick cackled. “I do _not_!” He snapped, pouting at the King. “That was cruel.”

Frederick's peals of laughter softened his ruffled feathers, and he sighed, lowering the mirror. “You’re a devil, you know, Freddy.”

“I’ve been told as much before.” His Majesty answered, taking the mirror away to set it down before straddling Samuel’s lap.

Sam leaned back, inhaling lowly, and raised his eyebrows. “Do I really look bad?”

“Not at all. Rather fierce, if I may say.” Frederick responded, threading his fingers into Sam’s shorter hair.

The bishop smiled a little. “I trust your judgement, Your Highness.”

The King looked positively thrilled, bowing to pepper a line of kisses along Sam’s jaw. Sam tilted his head compliantly, more sensitive than usual now that he’d been professionally shaved. Frederick's teeth scored a little red mark where his jaw came to his ear, and Sam hissed.

All this just for his induction to some silly Order of the Garter Frederick had decided he needed to be placed into. Sam sighed softly, curling his hands about the outside of Frederick's thighs. If it gained him a reaction such as this just to be cleaned up, he supposed he could tolerate it.


	36. “Everything was fine, until you showed up.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 36\. “Everything was fine, until you showed up.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The words of Sam's sermon come from a sermon he actually delivered.

“In this view, then, as well as in all other views, the Christian Religion deserves our best regards. It teaches us to consider all mankind as one common brotherhood-the children of the same parent, and members of the same family-allied to each other by partaking of the same nature, and of the same necessities and infirmities: And it directs us to seek and promote their happiness by all the means that shall be in our power-to comfort the afflicted-to protect the weak-to relieve the oppressed-to support the indigent-to instruct the ignorant-to administer, in short, to the various necessities of mankind, as God shall give us the ability and opportunity.”

Samuel’s voice was even and powerful as he spoke, standing tall before his new parish. The man was absolutely confident in his ability to speak in the name of Christ, and was proud to take his pace before the court and provide to them a sermon. It was his first time doing so, and he was a little nervous, but mostly, just excited to prove his worth in London.

As much as he adored being Frederick's bedpartner, he would like to also stake a claim to his abilities outside of His Majesty’s chambers. The sermon was going well. The parish’s faces, collectively, were interested. They were listening. Sam knew his accent in of itself was a novelty, but he knew they would have stopped paying attention long ago, were that his only merit. He adored serving the church. He was in his element.

Casting a little smile out over the rows of pews, Samuel took a moment to collect himself, shuffling his notes before him on the podium. When he glanced back up to continue to speak, his voice caught steadfastly in his throat. Frederick, in his familiar crimsons and golds, was lounging against the doorway.

Samuel swallowed tightly and continued on with his sermon, a little flush raising on his cheeks. He did his best to ignore His Majesty’s presence, but Frederick proved distracting. Nonetheless, Samuel ended his sermon on a strong point, and took a moment to shake hands with some of the more moved members of his new congregation. When they had trickled from the church, Frederick sashayed his way down the aisle and up onto the dais where Samuel stood, gathering his things.

“How did it go, darling?” Frederick asked, one arm sliding into its familiar place around Samuel’s waist.

Sam gently extricated himself, sending Frederick a dry look. “Everything was fine, until you showed up.”

Frederick pouted, cocking one hip out and balancing a hand upon it. “Oh, Sammy. I only came to support you. How are my efforts received? Squandered.”

The bishop rolled his eyes and hid a smile at the King’s antics. “Come,” He said, gently nudging Frederick down the steps. “Out of the church.”

“Can’t I just kiss you now?”

“ _Absolutely not_.” Samuel’s answer was strong, and Frederick huffed a little, following along obediently anyways. “Not in the house of God.”

Samuel found himself pulled into a gentle kiss the moment they stepped over the threshold, and he flushed darkly, pulling away to look about. Once assured that they were alone, he kissed Frederick again, suckling on his lower lip. Frederick made a rough sound in the back of his throat, and Sam shivered.

“This is _sacrilegious_.” He mumbled against Frederick's mouth, blushing as he moved back.

Frederick only laughed. “We left church, isn’t that enough?

“You’re insatiable.”

“I am always at your service, Samuel.”

It was Samuel’s turn to laugh then, and he entwined their fingers. “To dinner, then?

“Of course.”

All in all, Sam’s induction into the royal church had gone quite smoothly, and, whether he showed it or not, Frederick's presence had meant the absolute world to him.


	37. “Can you just shut up for five minutes?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 37\. “Can you just shut up for five minutes?”

“Fuck, Sammy, _Samuel_ , I—nngh, fuck, _that’s good_.” The words spilled from Frederick's lips in a filthy tone, and Samuel, from where he was between Frederick's thighs, felt entirely embarrassed.

He rolled his eyes for his own satisfaction, continuing on in his mission to unravel the King entirely. Of course, he enjoyed sending Frederick over the edge and turning him into a blathering mess, but, really, Samuel rather thought his pretty mouth shouldn’t produce such smut.

Sam dragged his tongue along the seam of Frederick's thigh, and the King whimpered, rolling his hips pointedly. The bishop gripped his hips, shoving his pelvis back against the mattress and holding him there. A little sob tore from Frederick's throat as Sam’s tongue found its way back inside the King.

The bishop ran his nails along Frederick's prominent hip bones, marking them with thin red lines. Frederick squirmed, his ankles crossing over one another on Sam’s back. Sam swirled his tongue in a particularly good way, and Frederick's thighs clamped down around his ears, a litany of pleads falling from the King’s lips.

Samuel felt both proud and embarrassed.

Frederick drew out the a in his name when he moaned it, shaking a little. “ _Sammy_ , fuck, oh, please, I can’t-”

Sam slid his hands around to grasp two palmfuls of Frederick's ass, kneading as he ate the King out. Frederick positively squealed and crooked his knees, dragging Sam impossibly closer. The bishop hummed a little, ignoring the ache in his neck from holding such a position for so long. He made another especially good motion, jaw tense from the work, and Frederick cried out.

“Ahhh—nngh, Sam— _Sammy_ , please, _please_ -”

“Can you just shut up for five minutes?” Sam asked sharply, cheeks red with both arousal and self-consciousness. “Honestly Frederick, _hush_.”

The King inspected him through half-lidded eyes, pupils blown so large the blue of Frederick's irises were nearly blotted out. It took him a long moment to formulate his words, but he finally purred, “ _Make me_.”

Sam shoved Frederick's legs from his shoulders and hauled himself up to the King’s level, promptly silencing him with a harsh kiss. Frederick whimpered into it, his legs immediately hooking over Sam’s hips. The bishop ground against him, biting into Frederick's lower lip and tasting copper.

Frederick's hands found Samuel’s shoulders, and his nails dug in, completely unforgiving as Frederick clung to him. Sam drew back with another nibble at Frederick's swollen lip, than patted him on the hip. “Turn over.” He left no room for argument, and Frederick all but scrambled to roll onto his stomach.

Samuel took him by the hips and drew him backwards until he was balancing precariously on his knees, arms tucked out in front of him, cheek pressed to the comforter. “Remember,” Sam said sweetly, hurriedly slicking himself and then placing the oil back on the nightstand. “Be quiet for me. Can you do that?”

Frederick nodded frantically, watching Samuel the best he could from the corners of his eyes. “Good.” Samuel answered, returning his attention to Frederick's ass and pushing forward.

He sunk into the King like a dredge, and Frederick moaned unabashedly, his voice breaking towards the end of the sound. Samuel growled as he flattened himself over Frederick's back, taking the curve of his ear between his teeth briefly.

“You _whore_. What did I just say?”

He punctuated his last sentence with a thrust, and Frederick whined, shoving his hips back into Sam’s. The bishop bit into Frederick’s shoulder, starting a quick, hard pace. It took Frederick a minute, but he managed to gather up the comforter in his hands, nails burying into the fabric.

Sam hissed out a praise when Frederick bit into the heavy blanket to muffle a cry. Frederick rutted backwards to counter Samuel’s thrusts, thighs falling a little further apart as Sam fucked him. Samuel held Frederick's hips in place with one hand, the other tangling in Frederick's hair and shoving his face into the mattress.

“You—fucking, you look _so good_ —ah, when you’re getting all that royalty _fucked_ out of you.” Samuel spoke in a low, heady tone, tightening his grip in Frederick's hair possessively. “You’re a very good slut, Freddy.”

At that final insult, Frederick sobbed, hips bucking harder than before as he came. He tightened around Samuel, and the bishop gritted his teeth, chest heaving as he resisted his body’s inclination to follow Frederick's example.

Instead, when Frederick's muscles began to relax, and he sunk to the bed, Samuel pulled out, using shaking hands to turn the King onto his back. Frederick looked up at him blearily, body slack with pleasure, and only jerked once in surprise when Samuel spent himself on his face.

Gasping for air, Samuel sank atop the King, worn from their violent lovemaking. Frederick made a low, sweet sound, taking a moment to lick his lips. Samuel chuffed out a little laugh at that, then groaned when Frederick wipe his cheek off with his hand and then cleaned that hand with his tongue.

The King relaxed back once his face was satisfactorily free of Samuel’s spend, his eyes fluttering a little. They settled into bed, avoiding the stain on the sheets Frederick had left. Samuel hugged him tightly, kissing over the spot where a bruise was blooming on Frederick's shoulder. He tenderly traced the indents he’d left with his teeth, then kissed Frederick on the cheek.

When their breathing had evened out a little more, Samuel tugged the long discarded sheets up around them. Frederick made another soft noise, and the bishop grinned against his cheek. “Was that good?” He asked softly, stroking Frederick's hair.

“Yes.” The reply was simple, but Frederick's tone was small and awed.

Samuel’s grin broadened. “That’s a good boy.”

Frederick whimpered and buried his face in Sam’s shoulder. The bishop chuckled and kissed him on the forehead. “I’m glad you liked it. I wasn’t too rough?”

“Not at all.” Frederick answered quietly, working a leg out from between Sam’s to instead drape over his hip.

“Good. Is this aftercare good?”

“Yes, absolutely. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Samuel remained quiet for a good few minutes, holding Frederick to his chest and just petting his sweaty hair. He adored little moments like this where they could just bask in each other, especially knowing he’d done a good job at dominating Frederick. Another of the King’s sensibilities. He liked to be dragged down a few pegs every once and a while.

“You are a good boy, you know.”

Frederick's voice was weak, and laced with a whine. “Sammy, _please_.”

Sam laughed in response.


	38. “Never mind, the moment’s gone.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 38\. “Never mind, the moment’s gone.”

Samuel happened to be minding his own business in the King’s Library when a set of clipped footsteps approached him. A little air of nervousness arose within him, and he turned. The man breezed past him, but not before casting an obviously appraising glance up and down his person. Sam flushed hotly and followed the other with his eyes.

The man paused before a shelf, seemingly at random, and plucked a book off of it without looking. He leaned, casually, against the shelf. Samuel rather thought he looked very important. The bishop swallowed and turned his gaze away, returning to his own perusal of the shelves.

The man was dressed to the nines in all manner of finery. His breeches, even, were crafted from a crimson silk. It made Sam feeling overwhelmingly underdressed, even though the Kings Library was public to scholars such as himself. Perhaps that man was just overdressed. Yes, it was his fault.

Sam tried to shake the other from his thoughts, but every time he looked up, the other was still there, lounging, eyes half-lidded. It made him uncomfortable to be watched, but the man intrigued him, too. He followed the shelf closer to the other, and spared a quick glance at him again.

“Your book is upside down.” He stated lamely, motioning with one hand.

The man deflated a little and rolled his eyes. “By Gods, you’re thick.”

Samuel opened his mouth to retaliate, offended, but suddenly found his lips occupied with those of this other man’s. He made a shocked sound, eyes wide, his mind abuzz with the fact that they were in public—fuck, how did this man know he shared his same sensibilities—what in the hell?

Then the other was withdrawing, a smug little smile plastered on his face. Sam blinked at him, struggling to say something clever. The man patted him on the shoulder lightly, then swept past him. Sam turned to watch him go, brows drawn together in confusion.

“Wait!” He hissed, grabbing his book and rushing to catch up with the other.

The taller of them didn’t pause in his stride, just slowed a little until Sam reached his side. “Hmm?” He hummed absentmindedly, dropping his book off on a table before heading for the doors.

“You can’t—you shouldn’t just _do things_ like that and walk away!” Samuel felt flustered and particularly hot under his cravat.

They exited the Library, and the man headed towards St. James’. So, he was important, then. God, this was not what Sam needed right now, to be involved in some political sex scandal while making an attempt to obtain his ordainment from the Church of England. Nevertheless, he trotted at the other’s side, trying to keep up with his mile-long legs.

“Never mind, the moment’s gone.” The man answered lazily, sounding far too coy for Samuel’s tastes.

“Who are you?” Sam demanded, voice coming out in a rush. “How did you know I wouldn’t strike you?”

The man giggled, and Sam’s heart did a little flip. Oh, that was endearing.

“I do adore you colonials. You’ll find out soon enough, darling.”

And with that final comment, the man was making his way past the guards at the gate like he owned the palace itself. Samuel stood, dumbfounded, and stared at his back until he disappeared into St. James. He wondered what he had gotten himself into?


	39. “You’re an idiot. I’ve met smarter sandwiches.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 39\. “You’re an idiot. I’ve met smarter sandwiches.”

“I told you to come sit under the parasol.” Samuel sounded more exasperated than anything, even if he spoke with an underlying _I-told-you-so_ tone in his voice. “This is your own fault.”

Frederick whined pitifully, his skin red and peeling from exposure in the sun. “First you say ‘come outside with me, Freddy’, and then you said ‘come out of the sun, Freddy’. Freddy this, Freddy that—make up your mind!” He was petulant, laying out on his stomach on the cool tiles before the unlit hearth in his personal chambers.

Samuel huffed a little at Frederick's impersonation of him—(his voice rose several octaves when he spoke as Samuel)—and continued to stroke the King’s hair back. His cheeks, shoulders, and nose were burnt by the sun, and he was miserable.

The bishop had already apply aloe cream to His Majesty’s back, and chastised him, in his opinion, enough. Frederick adjusted how he was laying, pillowing his cheek on his other forearm so he could look up at Samuel. His eyes were huge and sad, and Sam pitied him. His heart softened at the sight of Frederick looking so absolutely wrecked, and he shook his head.

“You’re an idiot. I’ve met smarter sandwiches.”

“I’m hungry.” Frederick answered, curling in a little further to himself and choosing to ignore Samuel’s jibe. His movements were careful, so as not to disturb his stinging skin.

“Do you want me to fetch you something?” Samuel bent to kiss Frederick's forehead, careful to not touch any agitated flesh.

“Call a servant.” Frederick grumbled, shifting again uncomfortably.

Sam stood and headed to ring the little bell hung near the door that would summon a maid. He felt bad for Frederick, put it did serve the King right for not listening. Sam did know what he was talking about, after all.

A servant arrived quick as could be, and Sam asked for a block of ice, some towels, and a platter of teacakes. When the young woman scurried off, Sam returned to Frederick, settling at his side and petting his hair again.

Frederick sighed sadly, and Sam fought a laugh, stooping to kiss him very carefully on the lips. The King kissed back sweetly, basking in the distraction, and hummed a little. Sam sat back after a long few minutes, biting his lower lip.

“That’s enough of that, I think.”

The King pouted, and Sam elucidated.

“You’ll only aggravate your skin if we do anything, so. No more.” Frederick looked devilish and despaired all at once and Sam chuckled. “I’m sure your burns will fade in a day or so. Perhaps you’ll take heed of my words next time?”

“Perhaps.”


	40. “I believe you dropped this.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 40\. “I believe you dropped this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for @bedelias-bitch and @chibiscuit, who requested an interaction post-"Farmer Refuted" where Samuel's like 'I tried' and George is all like 'I know, it's not your fault.' about a million years ago that I'm just now writing. Also 40/50 chapters done!!! Thanks for all the support, ya'll!

“I believe you dropped this.”

Samuel looked up, sniffling and wiping a hand over his face. Frederick stood before him, and Sam focused on the expensive golden buckles on his shoes. The King’s voice had been soft, soothing Samuel a little. Nonetheless, the bishop still felt like a failure.

Sam turned aside and bowed his head again, fresh tears making his vision swim. “You can throw it away.” He choked out, burying his face in his hands and shaking as a sob tore its way up his throat.

He felt raw and miserable and useless. He had let Frederick down, he knew.

“Darling.” Frederick spoke gently, and Sam could feel Frederick move, his silk clothes shifting audibly as he knelt to envelope Sam in an embrace.

Sam’s handwritten _Free Thoughts_ document was still in his hand. Sam pushed his face into Frederick's shoulder, his hands coming up to shakily grasp at Frederick's arms. He sobbed brokenly, clinging, and tried to banish the feeling of utter despair that had risen in him.

Frederick took advantage of their height difference to heave Sam into his lap, holding him tight and rocking them gently. When Sam managed to stop crying some time later, he recognized Frederick was singing quietly to him. He shakily gripped one of the King’s hands, curling their fingers together and squeezing.

“You did so well, Samuel.” Frederick murmured into his hair, still holding him tightly. “I’m so proud of you.”

“They didn’t listen.” Samuel mumbled, tucking his face back against Frederick’s shoulder and sniffling. He felt like a babe, or a fool, and all he could do was hide against the other. He’d returned from America directly into Frederick's arms when his parish had all but abandoned him. In a fit of anger and what, at the time, seemed like righteousness, and now, only seemed like foolishness, Sam had upturned a crate to stand upon and present his _Free Thoughts_. He’d been laughed out of the square.

He’d gotten to talking to Frederick about it, and the memory of the embarrassment, and his utter failure, had sent him into tears. Sam had dropped to the floor and cried, and now, here they were. Frederick kissed Sam’s forehead, humming again sweetly. Samuel sagged against the King’s chest, going entirely lax and allowing the other to just rock him gently.

“They squandered your presence. Your ideas. Your eloquence is magnificent, my darling. And I know you tried. That means the world to me.”

Samuel flushed a little and curled tighter to Frederick. “I’m sorry.” He said weakly, playing with the lace of Frederick’s sleeve cuff.

“You’ve no need to apologize. I love you.” Frederick soothed, placing another kiss on Sam’s cheek.

Sam nodded, holding onto Frederick tighter. “I love you, too.”

Even though he felt like a waste, Frederick still cared for him. And that was all he really wanted.


	41. “What are you doing in my house?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 41\. “What are you doing in my house?”

It had been a phenomenally long day. Samuel was exhausted. His muscles ached from the long ride he took every day across his township to preach at the loyalist church. The church he’d been occupying previously had become deemed the rebel church, and Sam, unwilling to give up preaching, waived his position to a traitor pastor, and made himself at home with a brand new parish. It seemed every day he worked, there was a verbal duel in the pews. People were always going on and on about taxes and fighting.

He was sick of it. Arriving at home and slipping from the saddle, he made quick work of untacking, grooming, and watering his horse. When the animal was put away for the night, Sam entered his house, feeling weary down to his bones. He trudged inside and slid his robes off, hanging them upon a hook before turning to move towards his bed.

The figure laying upon his bed grinned. Samuel screamed. Frederick leapt up and crossed the room in a few quick strides, gathering Samuel into his arms and laughing. “What are you doing in my house?” Sam demanded breathlessly, taken by the way Frederick held him close and kissed him.

“Didn’t you miss me, Sammy, darling?” The King asked playfully, guiding Sam towards the bed.

Sam sat heavily, fingers bunched in Frederick's plain waistcoat. The lack of regal attire was what had made it take Samuel a moment to recognize Frederick, and was why he had screamed. Sam traced the hem of Frederick's collar with a finger and tilted his head up into a kiss.

“Of course. Why are you here?”

“I’ve come personally to reclaim my colonies, of course.” Frederick said absentmindedly, too busy peppering kisses up the column of Sam’s neck to care for any conversation. “And you.”

Samuel shuddered. “Right. And, you didn’t think to send word ahead? A line in your last letter?” His voice hitched when Frederick latched onto his pulsepoint with his teeth and nibbled a mark into place.

Frederick laughed into his neck. “That would have ruined the surprise.” His hand snuck between Samuel’s thighs, and he returned to delivering kisses unto him.

Sam suddenly didn’t feel so tired anymore.


	42. “I don’t know if I should kiss you or slap you.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 42\. “I don’t know if I should kiss you or slap you.”

“Excuse me, I’ve been summoned for an audience?” Samuel addressed the guard standing before the door of Frederick's throneroom, a bit of an anxious look on his face.

“You are?” The guard inquired, shifting his gun into the crook of his elbow as he prepared to admit Samuel to the room.

“Bishop Seabury.” Samuel answered confidently.

The guard’s eyebrows rose a little, but he said nothing, and Samuel was permitted entrance. The door closed behind him with a solid click. Sam noticed that Frederick's court was empty. He paid his first reverence, bowing deeply, then approaching the King.

Frederick lounged in his throne, one hand to his lips, his teeth worrying absentmindedly at a fingernail. Sam paused half-way to Frederick's dais, bowed again, and then completed the journey with a third bow at the foot of Frederick's throne.

The King extended a hand silently, and Samuel came up the steps to take the offered hand and place a soft kiss upon his knuckles. A little smile peaked past Frederick's other hand, which he dropped from his mouth.

“Your Majesty,” Samuel greeted, inclining his head and smiling back softly.

“Bishop.” Frederick responded, leaning back a little on his throne and swinging his legs down from where they’d been tossed over one arm of the glorified chair.

He gestured at the poof before his throne, a footrest, and Samuel took a seat, propping his elbow on his knee, and his chin on his fist in a fluid movement. “I am your obedient and humble servant, Your Highness. How may I serve you?”

Frederick's lips curled, and Sam had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop from returning the smirk. Outside the bedroom, he remained respectful, acting all the part of any of the King’s subjects. He’d received his ordainment a few weeks ago, and was still in awe that he was being permitted to stay in Frederick's bed and affections for as long as he had.

The King cupped his cheek, then leaned down for a slow kiss. Samuel tipped his head back, accepting His Majesty’s advances easily. He closed his eyes and, at the first pass of Frederick's tongue across the seam of his lips, reached to touch Frederick's face as well.

They sat that way for a good few minutes, until Frederick broke the kiss and coaxed Samuel up into his lap. The bishop flushed and settled there, straddling Frederick's hips. The King’s hands snuck around Sam’s waist to grab his ass, pulling him down as Frederick rolled his own hips up. Sam whined, low in his throat, at the sensation.

Frederick smothered the sound with another kiss, keeping Sam in place with his hands and sucking up a harsh mark under Sam’s jaw. Samuel breathed out in a huff, draping his arms around Frederick's neck and nipping his lower lip. The King chuckled into their kiss, then ran his hands up Sam’s back to curl in his hair.

His lips drew a line of kisses up Sam’s neck. Frederick bit his ear lightly, than purred, “Thank you for your service to the Crown, Bishop Seabury.”

“I don’t know if I should kiss you or slap you, for that.” Samuel said cheekily, tilting his chin up to expose more of his neck.

Frederick latched onto his pulsepoint and suckled up another dark lovemark there. Samuel sighed softly, eyes half-lidded, entirely content to spend his time perched in Frederick's lap. The sheer audacity of the situation struck him, and he giggled a little.

“I’ll see you in my room tonight?” Frederick propositioned, speaking into Sam’s neck.

Sam nodded, hugging the King briefly before slipping from his lap. Lazily, Frederick leaned back into his throne and gestured vaguely. “You may take your leave.”

Sam pressed another kiss to Frederick's cheek, smiling shyly, then bowed and headed for the door. He didn’t mind in the slightest that he’d been called away from his studies to attend to His Majesty’s desires. In fact, he quite enjoyed the notion. He would be in Frederick's rooms tonight, he could promise them both that.


	43. “Why are you/we whispering?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 43\. “Why are you/we whispering?”

The ceilings of St. James’ chapel were vaulted, pillars soaring magnificently towards the heavens. The pews were made of fine, expensive wood. The Bibles were each printed and bound very well. The candlesticks on the dais were made of gold.  All the extravagancy made Samuel a little uncomfortable.

He had to admit, he missed his little schoolhouse church in Connecticut. He always felt so out of place when he preached here. No matter how expensive his robes, or well-styled his hair, he still felt shabby. Like he didn’t belong.

Luckily, the parish received him well enough, even though he’d only just arrived in England. He was treated civilly, unlike back home, where he had often been shouted at by rebels from the pews. Sam was glad he’d fled to England when the anti-tory laws had passed, even before fighting reached his hometown. Last he heard, Loyalists in Connecticut were being hung as spies.

Samuel shuddered at the thought and returned to where he was setting out his notes for the morning’s sermon. He smoothed the rumpled parchment across his podium, straightening out the papers absentmindedly. He arrived early, like clockwork, whenever he was scheduled to preach. Back home, he came in to clean up after the schoolchildren that were educated in the church. Now, he came out of habit.

The heavy, ornate doors at the back of the hall creaked, and Sam glanced up. His words of welcome died on his tongue, replaced instead by a little smile. His Majesty walked down the aisle, head held high, as regal as ever.

Sam stepped around the podium and down the steps to meet Frederick at the bottom of the dais. “Your Highness,” He greeted warmly, refraining from touching first, as always.

“Samuel.” The King’s voice was low, a whisper almost, and Sam’s face split in a grin.

“Why are you whispering?” He asked, leaning in closer as Frederick smiled back broadly.

The King took an exaggerated, shifty look around the church, then replied, “I don’t want the Lord to hear me say _I love you_.”

Samuel giggled and placed his hand over his mouth to hide how wide his smile had become. “Leave my church, you scoundrel.” He ordered, eyes soft and gleaming with amusement.

Frederick leaned in to steal a chaste kiss, accepting Samuel’s laughter as a substitute for a vocal return of his affections. “Technically, it’s _my_ church, Samuel, but, I suppose, if you long for my absence, I must abstain from your company.” He spoke in a melancholy tone, and Samuel playfully nudged at him.

“Go on, then, get.”                                                                                        

The King shot Sam a smirk over his shoulder as he took his leave. The doors swung open again, and a small gaggle of ladies, members of Frederick's court, entered. They all near tripped over themselves to bow at their King, who inclined his chin in response as he passed them. Samuel watched fondly, then returned to his podium. He felt more and more at home here with every passing moment.


	44. “If you really loved me there wouldn’t be a choice.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 44\. “If you really loved me there wouldn’t be a choice.”

The letter was grasped in Samuel’s hand tight enough for the paper to have crumpled. “My father wants me to come back to America, Frederick.” His voice was gentle, but still, the King frowned at him.

Samuel stood in Frederick's bedchambers, speaking to Frederick as the King sat at his writing desk, looking miserable. “Now, that I’ve obtained my ordainment, he wants me to preach in New London.”

“You should just preach here.” Frederick grumbled, turning aside so Sam didn’t see the hurt in his eyes. “I want you to stay.”

“Darling,” Samuel said softly, reaching across the desk to touch Frederick's hand. “I’m not choosing between you and America.”

“You are!” Frederick snapped, looking all the part of a brat. “And if you really loved me, there wouldn’t be a choice.”

“Don’t say that.” Samuel said shortly, rounding the desk to sit in Frederick's lap. He set the letter aside and kiss him lightly. “I do really love you. I’ll come back, I swear it.”

Frederick sniffed and turned his face the other way. Samuel rolled his eyes.

“Your Majesty.” He started, peppering kisses over Frederick's face. “Sweet one. I will return to you. I have to placate my father, but I’ll be back.”

Frederick made a face, leaning into Sam’s touch anyways. “Promise?”

“Always, Georgie. I’ll always come back.”

“Six months. I’ll send a ship to collect you.” Frederick stated finally, making his decision.

“Six months,” Samuel agreed.  


	45. “I think I made a mistake.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 45\. “I think I made a mistake.”

The little remainder of sunlight slipped over the horizon while Frederick and Sam were still taking tea in the gardens behind Buckingham. The week had been hectic, and now that the opportunity to take a break had come up, Frederick was taking his time with everything. The two sat together in wrought-iron patio chairs. The guard that followed Frederick about had long been dismissed, and the King had one leg tossed over the arm of the chair.

Sam was scooted close enough to him that their hands dangled between them, pinkies intertwined. It was quiet in the gardens, the evening air cool. The bishop had been reading, but now with the glow of the sun gone and the gardens cast in a blueish shadow, he closed his book and contented himself with sipping his tea and watching Frederick.

The King lounged, working through teacakes slowly. He was enjoying the peace and quiet. Sam smiled to himself, and Frederick raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?” He asked, turning to look at him more fully.

Samuel shook his head a little and curled his pinky tighter around Frederick's. “Oh, nothing. It’s just been a while since I’ve seen you so quiet.” He teased gently, draining his teacup and placing it on its saucer.

Frederick hmphed softly and returned his attention to eating. “I see how it is.” He shot back playfully, licking pastry cream from his fingers.

The bishop’s smile morphed into a broad grin, and he leaned across the space between them to kiss some of the cream off of Frederick's lips. Frederick followed him when he pulled away, continuing the kiss. Sam relaxed, running one of his hands through Frederick's hair.

“I think I made a mistake,” He said softly, drawing away just enough to speak.

“Is that so?” Frederick queried gently, caressing Sam’s face. “What mistake have you made?”

“Letting you talk me into staying.” He sighed, as if mournful, then shrugged a shoulder. “Now I’ll never be able to make myself leave.”

The bishop muffled Frederick's delighted giggle with his lips, drawing the King closer until Frederick was gracefully shifting out of his chair and into Sam’s lap. Glowworms twinkled under the bushes surrounding them, and Samuel cupped Frederick's hips in his hands, fingers sliding between the hem of the King’s breeches and his shirt.

His Majesty made a quiet sound and moved to take Sam’s face in his hands. He sank his fingers into Sam’s hair as the bishop tugged his shirt out from where it was tucked in order to touch the soft skin of Frederick's stomach. The King hummed, sensitive as always, and pulled away to snort a laugh.

“You know I’m ticklish,” He complained, tucking his face into Sam’s neck and kissing his jaw. “Don’t antagonize me.”

“You’re adorable.” Samuel responded, busying his hands with tracing nonsensical lines into Frederick's skin.

Frederick shuddered, full-bodied, and shifted back. “You’re mean.” He whispered, worrying Sam’s skin in his teeth to leave a mark.

Samuel grinned again, and kissed the top of Frederick's head. “So I am.”


	46. “Shut up, I am a delight!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 46\. “Shut up, I am a delight!”

Samuel didn’t think he’d been more turned on than he was right now in his entire life. He was sitting in Frederick's throne, the King straddling his lap, and was so aroused he could hardly see straight. Frederick was in the midst of lazily grinding his hips over Sam’s clothed erection, the bishop’s nails biting into his side.

Frederick's hands were buried in Sam’s hair, their mouths connected in a sloppy kiss. Samuel clung to him, hands roaming a little. He shirked Frederick's waistcoat up, fingers ghosting over the taut skin of His Majesty’s stomach. The King grinned against Sam’s mouth and pulled out of the kiss, face flushed, eyes soft with lust.

“You’re horrible,” Sam murmured, running a hand around to grip Frederick's ass and pull him tighter to him.

“Shut up,” The King mumbled, leaning in to bite Sam’s collarbone. “I am a delight.”

Sam shook his head a little and rocked his hips up. Frederick whined, and he smirked. Yes, he could definitely get used to this.


	47. “I can think of a million places I’d rather be right now.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 47\. “I can think of a million places I’d rather be right now.”

The sheer amount of preparation that had gone into planning their wedding day was enough to bury Frederick's writing desk in paperwork. The King was busy enough as it was, what with balancing both the newly formed United States on one hand and France in the other. At first, planning for his union had been a welcome reprieve from the stress of war, but now, with his Prime Minister breathing down his neck about everything, he found he rather preferred court duties to wedding plans.

Sam thought much the same. He was constantly drawn away from his holy work in order to try different things on and chose colors and practice walking down the aisle and all sorts of other such nonsense. He had had to skip Sunday school for the children of the court in order to have a suit fitted properly to him. Picking the veil alone—Christ, did he really need a veil?—was strenuous.

He stood idly as Frederick became more and more irritated with the proceedings. The proposal had gone perfectly. His Majesty had walked Sam through the gardens, holding his hand, before producing a document approved by his Parliament. The fine writing upon it declared a legal loophole permitting Frederick to wed himself to Sam in the name of God. The King, was, after all, the closest thing to God in his Kingdom. Parliament approved strictly for the need of a Queen. Sam hadn’t done anything to prove himself incapable of holding such a position, but, he also hadn’t done anything particularly impressive, either.

Frederick stood before him, now, crown slightly askew, his arms crossed over his chest. He looked tired, and bored. They had practiced the wedding ceremony countless of times, and now, standing before the altar, Sam felt a little concerned. This was taking its toll on the both of them, and he worried for them.

The court, of course, wanted everything to go especially right, since Sam was the first male Queen to have been wed to a male King since the time of King James. Sam locked his eyes on Frederick's face, trying to catch his gaze. The King stared dully down at his shoes, chewing absentmindedly on his bottom lip. They both ignored the going-ons around them. The hustle of court preparations was overwhelming.

Frederick looked up briefly and made an attempt at a smile when Sam’s lips curled up. “Are you alright?” Sam whispered, shifting just so closer.

The King gently took one of Sam’s hands, drawing senseless lines over his knuckles with his thumb. “I can think of a million places I’d rather be right now,” Frederick answered dryly.

Sam huffed quietly and squeezed his hand. His smile turned a little sad. “I thought our wedding would be good fun.”

“We should have eloped.” Frederick murmured, taking another small step closer.

A little spark lit in Sam’s heart, and he suppressed a smile at the King’s sudden close proximity. “We could have gone to America. My father would have married us, in the name of the Lord.”

His Majesty snickered, using his hold on Samuel’s hand to tug the bishop into his arms. Sam met him half-way in a kiss, hands coming up to rest on the King’s cheeks. Frederick made a low sound, deepening the kiss, and Lord North said something about focusing.

Frederick slowly pulled away, not casting his gaze from Sam’s face when he spoke. His tone was low and dangerous, and Sam recognized it as the one he used when he gave important orders. “Dismissed,” was all he said, but when the planners and court attendees and other royal family members hesitated, and repeated himself, voice taking on a snarling edge.

When they were gone, he returned his lips to Sam’s, holding him. Samuel kissed back sweetly, holding Frederick's jacket lapels. “I like when you get ordery,” He mumbled, breaking from the kiss only to have Frederick latch onto the place just under his jaw.

“Good.” Frederick mumbled, inclining his head and nibbling. “I am sick of them. I want you, Sammy.”

Perhaps, Sam thought, as the King bundled him up the few dais steps and pressed him solidly against the altar, he could convince His Majesty to think of a million reasons why he’d want to stay exactly where he was.


	48. “Now, just hold on a diddly darn minute.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 48\. “Now, just hold on a diddly darn minute.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is late because I was cosplaying King George at a con this weekend. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Samuel watched with great interest as Frederick settled himself in bed, tugging the sheets up and relaxing with a low sigh. The King had spent his weekend attending a ball thrown in Louis’ honor in Paris for some occasion or another, and he had only just gotten back to London. The bishop had missed him, of course, but had used the time without Frederick there to distract him to work on his studies.

While in London, Sam was working on his ordainment. Frederick was…well. Frederick was Frederick. The King shifted closer to the smaller of them and curled up, resting his cheek on Sam’s stomach and humming softly in contentment. Samuel grinned to himself and wrapped one arm around Frederick, his other hand shifting up to card through his hair gently. “Sleepy?” He asked quietly, as His Majesty slung a leg over his own.

“Mm.” Frederick made a gentle, non-committed sound, and pressed closer. Sam turned and blew the candle out that was sitting on the bedside table. “I love you,” Frederick added, voice low and rough with exhaustion.

“I love you, Your Highness.” Samuel answered in return, shuffling down the mattress so he could kiss Frederick sweetly.

The King’s hands wandered a little, up from Sam’s waist to his shoulders, then back down again. Every movement passed between them was lazy, and Sam made a little sound in the back of his throat. Frederick mimicked it, not unkindly, and Sam huffed a laugh into his mouth before pulling away.

One of Frederick's hands immediately slipped from Sam’s waist to the inside of his thigh, and Sam giggled, catching hold of his wrist. “Now, just hold on a diddly darn minute,” He implored, turning to intercept Frederick's lips again.

The King grinned and nuzzled against Sam’s jaw, curling his toes a little. “Why?” Frederick asked back, although, he allowed his hand to be restrained.

“Aren’t you tired?” Sam teased, dropping his head to one side so Frederick could lay kisses in a path a long his neck.

“Not at all, darling.” Frederick responded suavely.

Sam’s grip on the King’s wrist slackened, and Frederick's hand continued on its merry way.


	49. “It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 49\. “It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

It was quiet in the halls of Buckingham. It had been many long years since the war had ended, and even more since Samuel had taken up permanent residence there with the King. They had grown together. Sam still performed his duties as the Church of England’s head Reverend Bishop, and Freerick , his duties as the King of England. Their transgressions had become accepted amongst the court, hushed, yes, but tolerated.

The morning was still very young when Sam awoke. Frederick had one arm slung over his waist, his chest to Sam’s back, and the bishop was warm under the blankets. He smiled a little to himself and nestled back against the King, covering his hand with his own.

Casting a gaze out into the dim room, the sunrise yet to peek through the curtains, Samuel could still imagine their past in these chambers. Frederick at his writing desk, Sam in the armchair by the hearth. He could see Frederick's devastation upon receiving his colonies’ Declaration. He saw the first time a servant walked in on them, the fear, and further relief when Frederick had assured him it was alright, he was safe. He could recall Frederick's first attack of porphyria, which had kept him in bed for weeks.

He still felt, as intensely and warmly as ever, the love they had nourished there, together. Samuel’s smile brightened, even as he closed his eyes and rolled in Frederick's embrace to tuck his face into the crook of where Frederick's neck met his shoulder. The King’s hand drew a sleepy line up the plane of Sam’s back to rest at the nape of his neck, holding him gently.

“What are you grinning about?” Frederick asked, voice no more than a whisper as he threaded his fingers into Sam’s hair.

The bishop pressed his grin to Frederick's pulsepoint, then kissed the skin there. “Just remembering.” He responded quietly, slipping his arms under Frederick's to wrap himself tighter around the King.

Frederick shifted to kiss his cheek, their legs entangled, eyes still closed. “That so?” He teased gently, his other hand toying with the hem of Sam’s nightshirt. “I’m not sure I believe you.”

“Hush, you. I am doing as I say. Stop your mockery.” Sam nipped a little under Frederick's jaw, resting his chin on his shoulder and settling closer.

The King huffed softly and kissed Sam’s temple, stretching a little before making a low, thoughtful noise. “It sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself.”

“Of what?”

This jibing, these sweet moments before the rest of the country was awake, made Samuel’s heart flutter. Although his joints ached and it was harder to get moving in the day now that he was older, he wouldn’t trade what he had with Frederick for anything. The King was doting as ever, and they knew each other like the backs of their own hands.

“Of remembering.” Frederick was plucking at straws now, to keep the sleepy little conversation alive. It made Samuel feel cherished. He nuzzled Frederick's neck, then shifted back to kiss him.

It was lazy and slow, and they lingered on each other for a good long while before Samuel pulled away to yawn. Frederick chuckled and adjusted his grasp around Samuel’s waist, smiling at him fondly. Samuel rather thought he looked very handsome with his crow’s feet.

Eyes soft, Sam touched the tips of their noses together. “I love you,” He murmured, cupping the King’s face in his hands.

“And I love you, my Samuel.” Frederick answered, voice reverent.

They settled back down to sleep a few more hours, until the sun came up at least. Samuel drifted to sleep replaying the thousands of “I love you”s that had passed between them in their lifetime.


	50. “Why does anyone have to be naked?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 50\. “Why does anyone have to be naked?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is, ya'll. The end. I've put this chapter off for a few weeks now, and I'm still not happy with it. I just can't bring myself to close this fic, but here we are. This is for my lovely Samuel, you devil, you. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all the support and lovely comments and kudos I've received! I'm going to be working next on a short modern au series for @monsieurlefayette, which can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/series/593911
> 
> And, as promised, here is kingbury crossdressing public clothed sex.

“Are you quite finished?” Frederick's voice floated through the door of his en suite prviy, and Sam fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“Have patience, Highness.” He called back, flexing his hands in their position where they gripped at each other, his voice higher than usual.

The servant behind him smiled at him in the reflection of the mirror they stood before, and continued lacing up his corset. “I’m certain he’ll love it.” She offered, and Samuel flushed a little. “See? Why is there reason for anyone to be naked?”

The silk of the beautiful red gown Frederick had purchased for him was soft on his skin, and the bishop enjoyed the sensation, even as he took shallow breaths in order to accommodate the restrictive nature of the corset. He swallowed, eyeing himself in the mirror.

Beneath the gown, he was wearing a new set of garters, stockings, and panties. The gown itself settled over him attractively. Samuel wasn’t ashamed to admit that he looked rather good. The gown’s ruffled neckline cut low over his collarbones, and he reached up to adjust the fabric superficially. The dress had certainly been very expensive, and when Frederick had presented it to him in the box it had come in, shipped over from France, he’d only smiled wryly when Sam inquired after the price.

The servant gave one final tug to the corset, then bound the laces, securing Samuel in the outfit. She took her leave with a nod in his direction, and Samuel was left to gather the courage to exit Frederick's privy. The first time he’d done this, he’d been in mere undergarments, so he wasn’t entirely certain why this was taking more courage. Perhaps because he had taken on more fully the traditional role of a woman.

Luckily, Frederick had reassured him time and time again that he adored Samuel just the way he was. Sam just supposed spicing things up a little would be good fun. With that thought securely in mind, Sam took a deep breath—well, the deepest he could with the corset impeding his chest from fully expanding—and stepped out from the privy.

Frederick was lounging at his writing desk, one foot tapping impatiently, elbow propped on the desk, chin propped on his fist. He sat up straight when the door clicked open, however, eyes widening a little at the vision Samuel presented. The King whistled, low under his breath, and Sam’s cheeks flushed.

Frederick rose from his seat and walked slowly towards Samuel. Each step he took was clipped and even. Sam grinned at him, his anxiety fading, and reached to touch his face when he came close enough. Frederick gathered Samuel’s waist in his hands and stooped to kiss him, humming softly. When he pulled away, his eyes were soft, but hungry, pupils blown as he took in the sight of his lover.

“It’s lovely on you, darling.” Frederick murmured, voice reverent and a little breathless. His thumb moved in a slow circle on Samuel’s hip, and the bishop inclined his head to kiss Frederick again.

The King ran his hands up Sam’s back, pausing briefly to toy with the laces of the corset. Sam hummed into the kiss, nibbling on Frederick's bottom lip gently. Frederick pulled back again, one of his hands slipping down Sam’s arm to entwine their fingers.

“Ready?” He asked sweetly, face open with honest affection.

Sam squeezed Frederick's hand and nodded, squashing down the anxiety bubbling in him by meeting Frederick's adoring gaze. “If you’re certain, Majesty.”

“Of course—” Frederick paused a moment, as if tasting the title on his tongue, “—my Queen.”

Samuel felt his face flush hotly, all the way until the tips of his ears were burning. He could feel heat curl in his belly, and he gnawed at his lip briefly, ducking his head from Frederick's gaze in order to inspect the floor. The King chuckled, leading the way out into the hallway and towards his throne room.

The weight of Frederick's hand on the small of Samuel’s back calmed the bishop, and the walk to Frederick's throne room went quickly. An elegant chair had been drawn up beside Frederick's throne, and Sam delicately sat in it. He kept his eyes down, away from the curious gazes of Frederick's court. The collection of people was much smaller than usual, the group having been weeded through to only include those who could be trusted to keep the evening’s transgressions quiet.

Frederick crossed his legs at the knees primly and settled back into his throne, and court proceedings began. The Prime Minister spoke on taxes, on the colonies’ revolution, on domestic happenings, on relations with France. The subjects ranged from boring and numerical to sensitive and regarding war. Samuel listened quietly as Frederick presented differing opinions. Their hands dangled between them, pinkies curled together.

Gradually, Samuel became more comfortable, and held his head high, eyes cast out over the room. He was faced with familiar people: servants and court attendees and political peoples. He’d seen them about the castle. They’d attended Frederick's dinner parties. They knew of he and Frederick's relationship.

Anxiety bubbled lowly in the pit of his stomach as he wondered when Frederick was going to begin the evening’s actual activities. God, this was sinful. Samuel kicked his feet a little, admiring the fine high heels Frederick had purchased for him.

Frederick'spinky slipped from his, and his hand alighted on Sam’s thigh. Samuel’s breath caught. The pressure and slip of the silk against his skin was enough to send heat up his spine. It was going to be a long night if just that simple touch affected him so.

The political conversation petered down, and a servant brought the King a glass of wine. Samuel watched as the Prime Minister locked eyes with Frederick and gave him a curt nod. Frederick sipped at his wine, turning sparkling eyes onto the bishop. “How are you doing, love?” He asked gently, running his thumb in meaningless lines across Sam’s thigh.

Sam lifted a hand to catch Frederick's squeezing as he answered, “Very well, Your Majesty. Court is intriguing as always.”

Frederick hummed softly in the back of his throat and patted his lap. Samuel flushed a little, steadfastly ignoring the fact they had an audience, although distracted as they were with acquainting themselves with alcohol. He stood and took a few dainty steps over, then settled in the King’s lap. Frederick wound his arms around Samuel’s waist, looking adoringly into his face and offering him the glass.

Sam gladly took a sip of the expensive red wine, handing it back in order to drape his arms around Frederick's neck. If he looked hard enough at Frederick's face, he could forget the ten or so remaining court attendees watching them.

Frederick smiled at him, salacious and excited, and ran his hand up the outside of Sam’s thigh, playing with the silk of his gown and saying, “You’re gorgeous. An angel.”

The bishop rolled his eyes a little and pressed a kiss to Frederick's temple. “You’re a tease.” He whispered, goading, as he lounged with his legs over the arm of Frederick's throne, comfortable in the King’s lap.

The King raised a brow, inclining his head slightly. “Is that so?”

“That is so.” Samuel answered, leaning to catch the edge of Frederick's ear in his mouth to nibble. “Your Highness.”

“Mm.” Frederick looked up through his eyelashes at Samuel, and Sammy felt heat rise in his stomach. “Well, that just won’t do.”

Sam leaned against him, eyes slipping shut, as Frederick's hand drifted back down his thigh. The King was soft in every movement, so unlike his usual desperate grasps on Samuel, be he dominant or not in that moment. It surprised Sam a little, but he wasn’t adverse to the change in the slightest.

The murmur of their audience below was broken by a soft moan. Sam’s flush brightened. So, it seemed, the pleasantries had begun. He didn’t bother to look, only nipping at Frederick's ear again and whispering, “This is terribly naughty.”

“Well, good boys never have any fun, do they, princess?”

Samuel’s stomach dropped. “ _Oh_.”

“Mm, I thought you’d like that.” Frederick's voice dripped with smugness, and his hand drifted down to grasp at Sam’s dress. He pulled the hem of his gown up far enough to slip his hand underneath it, then let it drop. The fabric pooled about the crook of his elbow. Samuel spread his legs a little.

Frederick's nails scratched lightly at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, and Samuel let out a breathy little sound. The King leaned up to kiss him, capturing his lips and nipping a little. Sam melted against his chest, sliding his hands to the nape of his neck.

He was careful to avoid disrupting Frederick's wig, toes curling as Frederick's hand quested up to play at the v of his hips. One finger slipped beneath the strap of his garter, and Sam shivered as Frederick let the lace snap back into place.

Another moan, louder, this time, sounded from below. Samuel bit down into Frederick's lip. The King’s hand paused, and he bit right back. Briefly Sam registered that he could taste blood, and then, Frederick's free hand was adjusting him, grabbing his ass and pushing his legs farther apart.

Sam whimpered, and Frederick growled low in the back of his throat. “Remember,” Frederick murmured, breaking from the kiss to suck marks up on Samuel’s neck. “How I said I’d take you apart?” His voice dropped several octaves with hunger, and Sam shuddered.

“Yes, of course I do, Highness.” Samuel’s voice sounded breathy even to him, and he gripped at the collar of Frederick's fine jacket.

“Frederick,” Frederick corrected, voice low, busy dragging Sam’s skirts up.

“Georgie,” Samuel answered, tucking his face against Frederick's cheek and kissing his jaw. “My Georgie.”

“Yes, yours.” The King agreed, voice rough. He patted Sam on the hip, looking at him and appearing torn. “Shall you ride me?”

“In these skirts?” Samuel batted his lashes at Frederick, touching his cheek with the hand not entwined in Frederick's jacket.

“Ah, of course.” Frederick rolled his eyes, smiling devilishly as Sam slipped from his lap. “Well, I’d better have you over the throne, then, hm?”

Sam bit back a giggle and smoothed his skirts down as Frederick caught him around the waist and kissed him deeply. “Yes, you’d better.” He responded cheekily, running a hand down the King’s chest and pressing it to the front of his breeches.

Frederick's lips parted deliciously, and he hummed low in his throat. “You’d like that, princess, wouldn’t you?” He asked, and Sam felt his knees weaken.

He paused to take his wig off, impatient with the pins and dropping them on the floor. He put his wig down on Sam’s chair, then shoved that out of the way and grabbed Sam’s waist, pressing him up against the side of the throne. Samuel grinned and pulled him into a kiss. When Frederick bit him, he gasped, then moaned softly at the corset preventing him from breathing properly.

Frederick grinned at this. Samuel flushed darker, drawing him closer. They met half way for a kiss, and Frederick reached down to haul Samuel’s skirts back up. He let the fabric pool back about his elbow, sliding his hand into Sam’s panties and entirely bypassing his hardening cock in order to quest at his entrance.

Sam let out a breathy little moan, hips rolling into Frederick's touch. “Good boy,” Frederick purred against his ear, and Samuel whimpered, fingers digging into Frederick's back.

The King very clearly did not care for their audience. He pulled Samuel’s panties down, the garters falling with them, and allowed Sam to hang onto him for balance as he stepped out of the undergarments. “You’re so pretty, Sammy, doll,” Frederick said softly, standing between Samuel’s legs and unlacing his breeches.

Sam batted his hands aside to do the task himself, pulling the King’s cock out and thumbing over the head. Frederick made a harsh sound, shifting closer and stooping a little to ruck Sam’s skirts up to his hips.

Carefully, he pressed two fingers to Sam’s entrance, finding him still slick and open from being prepared before he’d gotten dressed. The King smirked, dipping his fingers into the bishop briefly before removing them and lining his cock up. Samuel whimpered, hips pressing forward, and Frederick kissed him as he nudged a little there at his hole.

The bishop made another desperate sound, balanced on the arm of the throne, and curled his legs around Frederick's calves. The King stepped closer, hands on Sam’s arms, and pressed in. Lights went off behind Samuel’s eyelids, and he whined, head falling back at the slow burn of the intrusion.

He squirmed against Frederick, and Frederick moaned quietly, tucking his face to Sam’s neck and leaving a bruise there from sucking at his tender skin. “Gonna fuck you, princess,” Frederick muttered, biting over the mark he’d drawn up and letting Sam adjust to his girth. “Gonna fuck you in front of them so nobody ever forgets who you belong to.”

Sam said Frederick's name, softly, and pulled him closer with his legs. The King looked up at him, catching his eye, and grinned, then pulled back and in one fluid motion, snapped his hips forward. A cry forced its way out of Sam’s throat, and he grabbed at Frederick, one hand on his shoulder, one hand in his short, ginger hair.

Frederick caught his mouth in a harsh kiss, setting to a brutal rhythm. The bishop trembled a little, sucking in sharp little desperate breaths. The corset was making him dizzy, and he clung tighter to Frederick. The King’s hands roamed along his sides, then down to his hips, holding him in place as he fucked him mercilessly.

Samuel started to speak when Frederick adjusted and started in at a new angle. “Fuck, fuck, oh, Georgie, please, please, my God—” The bishop cut himself off in a kiss, then broke it to gasp, “Georgie, oh, William Frederick!”

The King gripped his hips harder and leaned down to bite Sam on the collarbone, just above where the dresses neckline fell. He growled, entirely possessive in that moment, and Samuel shrieked his name. A few more thrusts, and Frederick found his sweet spot, fucking up against it and sending Samuel over the edge.

The bishop sobbed out, clawing down Frederick's back, and clenched down around his cock. The sudden increase of pressure drew Frederick's orgasm out of him, and he muffled a cry by sinking his teeth into Sam’s shoulder.

When Sam came down from his thigh, he laid back out across the throne. Frederick absentmindedly wiped himself off on the panties he’d tossed to the floor, then tucked himself back into his breeches and pulled Sam’s skirts down.

Samuel panted, lightheaded from the lack of air after such physical exertion, and Frederick undid the knot keeping the corset tight. When it loosened, Samuel gulped a few deep breaths before slipping his hand into Frederick's.

The King bowed over him, holding him close, then adjusted and swept Sam up into his arms, bridal style. “A princess,” He said, voice a little strained, “Deserves a fine bed.”

Samuel laughed breathlessly and touched his forehead to Frederick's, even as the King began to walk them down the steps of the dais and towards the hall. The left the court with several attendees still going at it themselves, retiring to the King’s bedchambers.

Sam kicked out of heels, and with Frederick's help, stripped down. He curled in bed as Frederick disrobed as well, and turned into the King’s embrace as he wrapped his arms around the bishop.

“I love you,” He murmured into Frederick's shoulder, absentmindedly touching the bitemarks on his own.

“And I love you, princess.” Frederick murmured, voice thick with sleep. He smiled, and Samuel touched his cheek gently.

They kissed, growing closer to rest, until Sam pulled away to draw Frederick into a tight hug. Frederick squeezed him back, humming softly, grinning into Sam’s skin.

“You are heaven on earth,” Samuel said sweetly, stroking Frederick's hair.

“You’re my world.” Frederick responded softly, kissing Samuel on the cheek.

When they drifted off to sleep, everything, in that moment, colonies lost or not, seemed right in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a request for more!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the kingbury goodness. I can be found on tumblr here: http://the-great-gay-jatsby.tumblr.com/ and am always willing to talk about kingbury. Come say hi!

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! I'm going to try to post at least one prompt response a day until they're completed.  
> \--  
> This work is completed now, and over 30k words! Please don't hesitate to leave a request in the comments, I'd love to write more for you guys!!!


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